Winter's Dawn
by Marlix
Summary: "I have signed the execution order and the pyre has been built," declared the monarch, righteous zeal burning in his eyes. "You will burn at the stake tomorrow."
1. Chapter 1

Dislaimer: I don't own Merlin

 **WINTER'S DAWN**

 **by Marlix**

The monarch made his way to the deepest reaches of the dungeons, down where the air was always cold and humid. It was oppressive, but it wasn't truly why he found it so hard to breathe. He entered the windowless cell and flashed his torch towards the prone form on the floor.

The prisoner instinctively raised his chained hands in front of his face in a futile attempt to protect his eyes from the harsh light.

"Stand up, traitor"

The king's severe eyes studied the man struggling to stand up, his weak legs protesting against his own weight.

He noticed with mild annoyance that the prisoner was still gagged, explaining his weakness as he could not have eaten or drank anything since his arrest. No doubt the prison guards had concerns about a sorcerer being able to enchant them from his prison cell.

He doesn't even look like his servant anymore, teary-eyed from the light and unshaven. The man he had believed a loyal friend was a fabrication and all that was left of their pretend friendship was a wreck, just like the pathetic form in front of him.

The king unsheathed his dagger, making his captive eyes widen with fear. He brought the blade near the dark-haired man face and cut the gag, which fell on the damp cell floor.

"Arthur," started Merlin, his parched throat making his voice almost unrecognisable.

"Don't you dare speak my name, sorcerer," commanded the monarch severely, his arms crossed.

"Please, my lord" begged Merlin. "If you just let me explain– "

"You stole from the castle. You were seen conspiring with a dragon. You have used sorcery to destroy a priceless gift from Camelot's allies. Do you deny it?"

But there was no denying of what Arthur had seen with his own eyes. When King Borin had gifted Camelot with a precious heirloom from his family as a peace offering, it had been a joyous occasion. But there had been a strangeness in Merlin as Arthur handed him the jewelled amulet, for safekeeping, almost as if he had been shocked, or even burned.

When the amulet had been nowhere to be found a mere two days after King Borin and his delegation had left, an unsuccessful hunt for the thief had been launched, his manservant acting shifty all along. Well, shiftier than usual.

So when Arthur had seen Merlin leave in the middle of the night, he had followed him from a distance. After a while, the forest had made way to a great clearing. The king had stayed under the cover of the trees, pondering on how to keep following his servant without being seen, when the man unexpectedly stopped.

He could still not believe what he had witnessed next. Merlin's guttural yelling. The great dragon's arrival shortly afterwards. The same dragon that Merlin had declared dead.

So Merlin had protected it, then, he realised in shock.

Remembering his last confrontation with the beast, he had stayed afar, despite his desire to confront Merlin. Too far to understand what was being discussed, he bid his time. He could do nothing but observe, eyes widening, as Merlin got the amulet out from his bag and used a powerful spell to destroy it.

Arthur had thought that nothing could be as horribly hurtful as Morgana's betrayal or his uncle's treachery. How wrong he had been. Merlin's duplicity was a final blow to his battered trust.

He had been proven too trusting time and again. He swore to himself it was the last time.

"Do you deny it?" he furiously inquired again.

"I don't, Sire. But–"

"You have just admitted your guilt."

"I only did it to protect Camelot."

"No more lies. You claim that you, a sorcerer, would help Camelot when all your kind have ever done was try to see it on its knees."

"That's not the truth. There can be such good to magic," professed the sorcerer, his voice soft as he looked straight into his king's eyes. "You were just never able so see it." It was obvious he believed those falsehoods.

That was it, then. Magic had corrupted his servant, twisting him into this man who would betray him, lie to him.

"Magic corrupts everything and everyone it touches. It is a plague upon this land."

"You sound just like your father." Merlin tone seemed strangely disappointed.

"You dare bring up my father, who was killed by the same evil you defend. I have been lax in pursuing his fight against sorcery. I won't allow it to happen again."

"True evil lies in the heart of men, not in magic" protested Merlin, matter-of-factly. Even in his current predicament, Merlin managed to appear in control of the situation.

The infuriated royal grasped him by the throat, shoving him mercilessly against the hard stones. Let the traitor know who was in control here.

"Who are you working for? Did you spy for Morgana?" thundered the fuming monarch. "Or was it another kingdom who desires insider information in order to invade Camelot?"

Despite the strong hand's tight grip around his neck, Merlin kept his bound hands down, simply staring at Arthur with watering eyes. He struggled to give an answer to the accusations, but a pathetic wheezing sound escaping his abused throat. Arthur had to remind himself that Merlin was not the victim here. After a second, he released his grasp.

"I am no spy, Sire. I would die before betraying you. You _have_ to believe me." His voice was soft, so sincere. He did not sound like a traitor. He sounded like Merlin, whose pleading eyes were looking straight in his own.

A hard punch sent the sorcerer sprawling on the cold floor in clink of chains. Blood poured freely, either from a split lip, a bitten tongue or a broken nose. Arthur could not afford to let himself care when Camelot's safety was at stake.

The man slumped on the ground holding his face was nothing but a skilled liar. He knew exactly what to say to get Arthur to listen to him.

He could not waver in his convictions. He could not be tricked again. There has never been such thing as a good sorcerer.

"I don't _have_ to do anything you say, you filthy sorcerer," bellowed Arthur in a blinding rage. "And I certainly won't believe a single word coming out of your mouth."

"I trusted you," the king's voice broke at this "and you betrayed me. You have deceived me, all these years. I have been made a fool of for the last time."

"You were never a fool to me, Sire," whispered the sorcerer, wiping the blood from his face.

"You have used sorcery and are therefore beyond redemption. You will die for your crimes."

"Not crimes. I have made mistakes, but please, Sire, I have only ever tried to help you!" the dark-haired man insisted.

"Your poisonous words can no longer reach my ears."

"I'm sorry… I've only ever used it for you…" muttered the captive, his voice full of sorrow. "I'm so sorry."

"I have signed the execution order and the pyre has been built," declared the monarch, righteous zeal burning in his eyes. "You will be burned at the stake tomorrow."

Merlin eyes widened in shock and he opened his mouth, as if about to say something, but closed it again, bowing his head in resignation.

The furious king turned his back and stormed out of the cell, slamming the metal door on his way out. Once more lost in complete darkness, the condemned man curled into a ball, shoulders shaking as despair took him over.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur had never felt more isolated in his entire life.

Everyone he had thought trustworthy was taking the traitor's side.

It had started with Gwaine. As he had been making his way back from the dungeons, he had heard fighting and discovered the source of the commotion was a slightly intoxicated Gwaine holding his own in a fight against four royal guards.

The knight had gone completely berserk and, from what Arthur had understood from the drunken ramblings, he had been making a foolish attempt at freeing the sorcerer.

Arthur had sent him to the floor with a single punch and then ordered the battered guards to put him in a cell until further orders. The man had sworn an oath to him but the king worried about where Gwaine's loyalties truly laid.

Then, it had been Gaius. The old physician had approached him just as he was making his way back to the royal chambers. He had expected it, of course. The old physician loved Merlin like a son and would be eager to defend him. He would never believe his ward capable of treason.

"Don't try to defend him, Gaius," warned Arthur.

"That amulet was cursed!" affirmed the old man. "It had to be destroyed."

The king's eyes widened as a realisation dawned on him.

"You knew. About Merlin's magic. YOU KNEW!"

Gaius did not flinch at the king's outburst. "I did, Sire. But–"

"I should have known," the king was fuming. "Guards! Arrest him!" he ordered.

Royal guards quickly appeared at Gaius' side, grabbing both his arms.

"What? No! Please hear me out!" pleaded the physician in a desperate appeal while pointlessly trying to shake off the guards.

"Your are under house arrest until I figure out the extent your implication in this treachery."

"I don't care what you do to me, but please don't hurt Merlin!" begged the distraught old man.

"Take him to his chambers," Arthur ordered before hurrying away to his own chambers.

Slamming the door behind him, the king grabbed the jug on the table near the door and threw it against the opposite wall. It crashed into pieces, water splashing all over the floor.

Turning away from the mess, he noticed his work table where maps and important documents lay. Carefully laid there by Merlin himself. With a furious yell, he swept the table clean, correspondence, legal documents and everything else on the table falling to the floor in a great mess.

He stood there for a long time, gripping the edge of the table, until he spotted a speech Merlin had written for him on the floor. It was a good speech, too. One Arthur would never get to read in public. He would not read the traitor's words.

Overwhelmed, he slumped in a chair and held his head between his hands, letting out a long sigh.

He was still there when his queen entered the room, just as intent as Gwaine and Gaius to have him free the sorcerer. He turned away, unable to look at the despair in her sweet face.

"I saw the pyre in the courtyard" exclaimed Gwen. "Arthur! You can't mean to go through with this."

"I can and I will."

"He didn't even get a trial," she petitioned. "Had he been some unknown sorcerer, he would have at least gotten one."

"What need is there for a trial?" the king turned to face his wife. "I saw him talking with the very same dragon that attacked Camelot. One he told me I had killed. He stole a priceless gift from the vaults and then destroyed it using sorcery. At this rate, he is lucky he cannot be executed thrice."

"What kind of justice is this?" she argued.

"I am the king and my word is law." The monarch's voice was flat, inflexible.

"I tried to go speak with Merlin. To find out what happened," said Gwen, modifying her strategy. "The guards wouldn't even let me see him."

"No one is to speak to him, on my orders."

"What? Why?"

"I am merely protecting you by keeping him from spreading more lies."

"I don't need protection from Merlin!" Gwen looked bewildered at the thought of Merlin being a danger to her. "Arthur, there has to be a good explanation."

"How can you be so naïve, Gwen? He betrayed me!"

"He is your friend, Arthur!"

"If he has ever been my friend, then he has turned against me," The monarch stood up, sadness and betrayal etched on his face. "They _all_ do."

Gwen's gaze fell to the floor, still feeling guilty at her own betrayal. It took her a second to recover. Merlin's life was on the line. Now was not the time to wallow in her past mistakes.

"Please Arthur. If you won't hear him out, at least listen to what I have to say before you do something we will all regret."

"How do I know you are not being magically influenced?"

Gwen approached her husband and took his face between her hands. Confident, she stared straight into his eyes.

"I know your trust is shaken right now but this is me, Arthur. This is us."

He took one of her hands in his own. How warm and soft they were.

"Right now, you are not thinking straight. I understand why. You said you saw Merlin use magic and I believe you. But it doesn't mean that you get to immediately jump to conclusions. To betrayal."

"Can't you see he was only feigning to be on our side. Everything we went through together was a lie. He is not the person he was pretending to be."

How could he be so furious but still grieving the loss of a friendship that never existed at the same time, he asked himself.

"I can't believe that. How many times would we have come to harm if Merlin had simply stood by doing nothing?"

"Then he needed to gain my trust, to spy on Camelot."

"Merlin would never do anything to hurt any of us," the queen objected, observing her husband pacing back and forth in the room.

"Magic is evil," he proclaimed. "It corrupts everything it touches. You know that!"

"It's Merlin we are talking about here! If he has magic, then it cannot be all that evil."

"Listen to yourself, Gwen. You and I have lost so much to magic."

"We have lost to cruel people who used their powers for evil. Merlin is not like that. He has helped so many people in Camelot without ever looking for any recognition. No spy or traitor would have done what Merlin has done for us!"

"Nonetheless, he was always sneaking around", Arthur accused. "Don't tell me that's not suspicious."

"He has shown again and again that he would lay down his life for you. Can't you see how much Merlin is devoted to you? You cannot feign that kind of loyalty."

"Stop trying to envision Merlin as some sort of wicked sorcerer, it won't ever make sense," the queen continued in earnest. "Instead, just try thinking of Merlin as we know him, kind hearted and recklessly loyal. Then, add magic and everything suddenly becomes so clear."

Arthur closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gwen's logic did make some sort of sense.

"He told me he used magic for me," he said, unsure. "That it can be used for good, but that can't be."

"He told you? About what he did?" She leaned forward, eager to learn what Merlin had to say.

"He tried to. I shut him out," admitted Arthur, looking away when he saw the shock in his wife's eyes.

"How can you expect to find out the truth if you won't even listen?" Gwen pointed out.

"What point is there to listening to what a liar has to say? Because that's what he did, lie! About the magic and that bloody dragon, and who knows what else!"

"Arthur, he is a sorcerer living in the heart of a land where his very existence is a capital offence. Of course, he was afraid."

"In that case, why even stay in Camelot in the first place?"

She shook her head. "I am not surprised."

"What, that he is an idiot?"

"In fact, it's consistent with what we know of Merlin. He never hesitates to put himself in the way of danger if he feels he can help. Is it that much of a stretch to think that he would stay in Camelot to help you despite the threat to his life?"

Indeed, what kind of life would there be in Camelot for a supposedly good-intentioned sorcerer, Arthur wondered, feeling his determination wavering.

"I trusted him. I thought we were friends."

"You _are_ friends. However your father and Gaius were friends and he still nearly had him executed when he suspected him of sorcery."

"I am _not_ my father."

"Then _prove_ it," she challenged him, grave. "Because, in the end, he was right to be worried about your finding out. You signed his death sentence, Arthur."

"He stole a invaluable gift from the vaults," accused Arthur, feeling his logic failing him. "A peace offering from King Boric. When he finds out it was destroyed, we will have a diplomatic incident on our hands."

"If he destroyed it, maybe it was dangerous?"

Arthur frowned. "Gaius told me it was cursed."

"Cursed? What kind of curse?"

Arthur crossed his arms, sullen. "I don't know what kind of curse. Just ask Gaius if you want."

"You should ask Merlin, and maybe give him a chance to explain," Gwen suggested with a slight smile

Arthur looked at her dejectedly.

"If it was dangerous, he could have just told me."

"If he had, would you have listened to him? I think that, if Merlin had came up to you, saying that you should destroy such a treasure, you would have shut him out."

Trying to think of a comeback, he found none. Gwen was right. If Merlin had told him to destroy the amulet, he would have laughed at him and called him an idiot.

"I, for one, trust Merlin a lot more than I trust those so-called peace envoys," she resumed, "and so should you."

"But he has magic!"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I know, Arthur. That fact has been made abundantly clear, for what else could so thoroughly cloud your judgement?" she scolded.

The queen took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke again, the exasperation in her voice had vanished.

"There _has_ to be more behind it," she added in earnest. "And if you have him executed tomorrow, you will never find out. I am not asking you to forgive him this very instant. But I am begging you, please, _please_ spare my friend's life. _Your_ friend's life"

With a sweet kiss on his cheek and hopeful eyes, she took her leave. Arthur knew Gwen trusted him not to go through with the execution. Would she ever forgive him if Merlin was executed? Would he be able forgive himself?

He had a choice to make, between a man who might have been his friend but had lied about what he was, and his deep-rooted beliefs about magic, impressed on him by a father who had been killed by it.

It was his responsibility, as a king and as a husband, to make the right call here, he reflected, collapsing in a cushioned chair. But how could he make sense of all the contradictions?

He knew for a fact that Merlin had lied to him about the dragon. He had protected it by telling Arthur he had defeated it.

He also knew that Merlin had restored his faith in himself as a king by leading him to Excalibur and then helped him take Camelot back from Morgana. So he couldn't possibly have been working for her.

But then, two days ago, he had thought that Merlin couldn't possibly have been a sorcerer. Thinking back to all the coincidences, all the strange occurrences and strokes of luck that had happened since Merlin first arrived in Camelot, he realised how blind he had been.

It had all been Merlin.

His thoughts were stuck in a loop. Had Merlin been pretending to be his friend, manipulating him for his own selfish purposes? Could there really be a hidden agenda? Or was there, as Gwen thought, really no ill intent?

Who was the real Merlin, he wondered.

He has seen clumsy incompetent Merlin at work. He had been the target of snarky Merlin's sharp wit. Compassionate Merlin was well known all over Camelot. He had occasionally bumped into shifty Merlin. He had listened to wise Merlin's intelligent advice. He had seen magic Merlin performing spells, talking with that dragon. He might even be able to imagine misguided Merlin, duped into learning magic.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not envision evil Merlin.

Gwen was right about one thing. Having Merlin executed would be a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

In a swift move, he raised from his seat and marched to his chamber's heavy wooden door. Pausing for a moment, he exhaled loudly before opening the door,

"Guards!" he called, the two guards patrolling the corridor promptly obeying their king's call.

"Have my manservant released from the dungeons," he ordered, his head held high. "He is to be sent to the physician's quarters and is not to leave them until further orders. The guards at the doors are to remain there at all times. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sire." The guards bowed down before taking their leave.

That night, it took a long time for the young monarch to find peace, unsure of what would have to be done about Merlin on the following day.

He even found himself toying with the idea of visiting the physician's chambers when Gwen, sensing his restlessness, turned in her sleep, settling in his arms. Wary not to disturb her, he stayed in bed. His business with Merlin could wait until the morning.

Eventually, Arthur dozed off, his queen sleeping peacefully by his side.

* * *

TBC

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited this story. Lots of angst coming up in the next chapters (sorry!), but I do promise a happy ending.


	3. Chapter 3

The young captive, exhausted as he was, had managed to elude sleep. He didn't want to waste his last hours alive, even if they were to be spent in a dank dungeon. How could a man find sleep when he is to be taken to his death only a few hours later?

He knew his time was up and that morning had finally come when his cell door creaked open. Eyes struggling against the glare, he distinguished two faceless guards stomping his way. Chains clinked loudly above his head and he was hoisted up roughly and dragged out of the dungeons.

Having spent the last years navigating the castle corridors, even with his blurry vision, he knew he was being led straight to the courtyard.

To the pyre.

After all he had done for his king and Camelot, this was how he was to meet his end.

As soon as he was out the doorway, the bright early morning light sent him reeling. He struggled to keep his balance, attempting to preserve what little dignity he had left.

The jeers of the crowd drew closer as he struggled forward, feet bare and head hung low in defeat. The warlock managed to keep going until he was hit in the head by a hard projectile.

The world went spinning in a confusion of loud noise and sudden cheers. He tumbled down, his knees painfully crashing onto the unyielding stone pavement. He barely managed to put his bound hands in front of him to protect his face. He observed with detachment as blood drops fell on the pale stone from the newly formed wound on his forehead.

He knew he should have been afraid. Terrified even. But he felt strangely detached. He felt empty.

Rough hands pulled him back up on his feet and he took his final steps to the wooden platform. A violent shove urged him up the stairs.

As his hands were bound to the stake, his hollow eyes scanned the hostile mob. Virulent as the crowd was, executions usually attracted more people, magic haters and curious spectators alike. Not many people wanted to miss the fall harvest to see the King's traitorous servant burn, he supposed. Not noticing a single friendly face in the crowd, he raised his head to get one last look at his king, master, and former friend on the castle's balcony.

But Arthur was not even there, Merlin realised with disappointment. The king was always present at executions. But not this time.

Instead of the king stood a handful of nobles, mainly King Uther's former advisors. Heartbroken, he realised that Arthur had sent bigoted magic haters to do the dirty job for him as a final insult.

But hours earlier, that small group of nobles had been sent into a alarmed frenzy as one of the royal guards informed them of the king's orders to have the sorcerer released. Not only King Arthur had done so after having already signed the execution order but, even more significantly, he had ordered the release not long after his brief visit to the sorcerer in the dungeons. The conclusion had been clear. The king had obviously been bewitched by the sorcerer.

So, unbeknownst to king and queen, they had arranged for the execution themselves, which had been unexpectedly easy considering they were holding a official execution warrant.

A balding lord stepped forward, warrant in hand, cruel glare staring at the young man bound to the stake.

"This man, Merlin of Ealdor, has been found guilty of theft, practicing sorcery and conspiring with a magical creature. Pursuant to the laws of Camelot, His Royal Majesty King Arthur Pendragon has decreed that those acts constitute high treason, for which the penalty is death."

The lord cannot help but feel pride at the look of defeat on the sorcerer's face. They had won. They had triumphed over sorcery.

"Light the pyre," he ordered with a smug smile as the crowd cheered.

The warlock remained painfully still as he heard the wood crackling around him. He closed his weeping eyes when smoke started to rise. But when scorching heat finally reached his feet, survival instincts kicked in and panic washed over him. Terrified, he struggled to release his hands from the bonds holding them over his head but his ordeal had left him too weak.

When the burning sensation became unbearable, he screamed in pain and the scorching smoke filled his lungs. He coughed it out only to draw another smoky breath, choking him and making him dizzy.

When merciful unconsciousness finally came, he welcomed it.

* * *

TBC

A big thank you to everyone who left a review!


	4. Chapter 4

The night had been a restless one for the young king, having fallen into a shallow sleep long hours after going to bed.

He slowly opened his eyes, surprised that the sun was already shining strongly despite the thick drapes, and frowned as he remembered that his manservant turned secret sorcerer wasn't there to wake him up. It felt strange, unnatural.

Still trying to figure out what would have to be done about Merlin, he pulled clothing from his wardrobe and put it on, angrily fighting with his shirt's laces. He might not be able to trust Merlin anymore, he regretted, but he would refrain from taking a decision until he heard him out.

His queen had already left his chambers, having neglected to wake him up. He wondered if she had done so because she was still upset or because she had noticed his difficulties finding sleep and simply wished him to sleep longer.

Probably a bit of both. He held no doubt that he would find her in the physician's chambers.

His assumption was unfortunately proved wrong when his chamber's door flew open. A panicked Gwen stormed into the room, hair in disarray and skin glistening with sweat.

"They are killing him!"

Shocked, he dropped the jacked he was about to put on and gaped at her, unsure of who his wife was talking about but already dreading the answer.

"Merlin! You told me he was to be released!" cried out Gwen in an accusatory tone.

"He was! Tell me where he is!" asked Arthur, already pass Gwen and halfway through the doorway.

"The courtyard!" he heard her call loudly from behind.

The king's launched himself in a mad run through the castle, dodging startled servants, almost knocking a guard over when he turned a corner. He rushed down the castle's stairways, navigating corridors quicker than anyone had ever done.

As Arthur finally reached the door, his heart fell at the sordid sight of the burning pyre.

He was petrified, unable to do anything but to stare slack-jawed at the dark smoke rising from the pyre and blocking the bright rising sun. Vicious pangs of grief tore through him, the cursed anger of the previous day gone in flames. Gwen eventually reached him, gripping his arm hard with shaking hands as she witnessed the horrid scene in front of her.

She wailed in despair. "No! Merlin. No, no, no…"

Arthur clasped his arms around his wife to keep her from falling to her knees but couldn't tear his eyes away from the fire. The sight would haunt him for the rest of his days. This was his doing. He had condemned the kindest soul, the bravest man he had ever known, his closest friend, to this horrible death. All for being something he had never tried to understand.

Then, he saw him through the thick grey smoke. Merlin. Bound and unconscious but still seemingly whole.

Next to him, Gwen gasped and tensed. She had seen him too.

The king sprang into action, dashing franticly down the stairs.

His mind was engaged by a single thought. The fire had not yet reached the stake at the centre of the pyre, there might still be a chance for Merlin.

He grabbed that hope and made his way through the foul crowd who would see his servant burn, cursing because he knew it was taking him too long to get to Merlin. He ruthlessly pushed anyone that was in his way, insensible to the indignant shouts.

As he finally reached the foot of the pyre, smoke filled his nose, smelling of burning wood but mercifully not of burning flesh. He leaped on the platform, distantly discerning Gwen's devastated screams from the crowd's horrified cries at seeing their ruler jump in a roaring fire.

He expected blinding heat. Instead, shocking cold found him as hammering rain hit, soaking him thoroughly. The shining September sun that had been mocking him mere instants earlier was now nowhere to be found.

Barely able to see through the downpour, he finally reached Merlin. The young man was limp and unresponsive, his head sagging against his chest, his bonds the only thing keeping him upright. Rope, not chains, he noticed thankfully.

"Please don't let me be too late" silently implored the king as he cut the rope with a powerful strike of his dagger. His servant fell at once but Arthur was ready to catch him, crouching down to carefully fling the falling man over his shoulder. He readjusted his grip on his friend, willing him to be alive, before carrying him back down.

Arthur gently laid Merlin out on the wet pavement and wiped the rainwater from his own eyes. He could only stare in pure horror at his broken friend, whose body was covered in red and black.

The sound of the falling rain was drowned by the young king's desperate screams for the physician.

* * *

TBC

Another short chapter, but the next ones will be longer


	5. Chapter 5

Rain was still pouring outside the castle and dark clouds blocked out the sun, howling winds caused the water drops to batter heavily against the castle's windows but no storm was as terrible as the one raging inside the physician's chambers.

For hours, the physician had been tending to his ward's injuries. Merlin was miraculously still breathing but unconscious and covered in burns. The skin on his face and upper body was a bright red, similar to a severe sunburn. Flying embers had left marks all over him, leaving swelled, blistered skin along with singed hair.

As bad as those burns were, Arthur gravely noticed, none could be as severe and gruesome as those covering the warlock's feet and legs. The king had felt sick at the sight of the white and leathery skin. Merlin's flesh would forever bear the scars.

If he lived.

Right now, Merlin's chances at survival seemed slim to none.

The burned man's body had been wrapped in bandages and covered in warm blankets, the remnants of his burnt clothing discarded. It turned out that hypothermia was a serious threat to burn victims, Arthur had learned. The physician had explained that a person's skin helps regulate the body's temperature therefore, if a considerable area of skin is burned, the body loses more heat than it creates. The sudden storm that had doused the fire had done a lot of good at stopping the fire from further damaging Merlin's body but had left him cold and wet.

After being released and hearing of Merlin's fate, Gwaine had stormed inside the physician's chambers where he had delivered a powerful punch to the king's face. Arthur rubbed his still aching jaw at the thought. Gwaine got once again restrained by guards before Arthur instructed them to let him stay.

The dark-haired knight was currently sitting in a chair as far away from Arthur as the room would allow, throwing him belligerent glares.

The burns were sadly not the only wounds Merlin bore. To Arthur's horror and shame, his manservant's neck was adorned with ugly purple handprints. Gaius had cast him a severe glance as he discovered the marks, certain about who the handprints belonged to, but had not spoken a word about them.

Arthur wished Gwaine would get another swing at him.

Weak, wheezing breaths escaped the wounded man, the only sign that he was still alive. Arthur listened carefully to each one of them, fearing it would be the last.

Gwen was assisting Gaius as best as she could, helping with bandages and fetching medicines. She wiped a lone tear from her eye as she attempted to get fluids into Merlin. The king was truly impressed by his wife's strength, as he was so close to unravelling himself.

Gaius' moves were as meticulous and careful as always, maybe even more so. One might almost think that Merlin was just any patient to him, and not the closest thing he had to a son, but Arthur was not fooled by the physician's mask. Gaius knew that if he faltered, his ward would be lost.

"Is he in pain?" Gwen murmured, her soft voice breaking the silence.

"He is so deeply unconscious that I should not think so. Unfortunately, there is no way to be certain. But I will not risk painkillers in his current condition."

"Will he die, Gaius?" Arthur asked, not able to hold his question longer.

"I will not lie to you, Sire, his burns are severe and extensive. I will treat him to the best of my abilities and try to keep him hydrated and warm, but we can only hope that no infection sets in. If it does, he could lose his limbs, if not his life"

"If you know of other healers who could be of assistance, let me know. Even… should they use magic", Arthur muttered, uncomfortable at his own suggestion. "They can fear no persecution from me or Camelot."

"Thank you. I will send word as soon as I can," Gaius replied coldly, mercifully not commenting about the sudden change of Arthur's stance on magic. Gwaine mumbled something, most likely insulting, from his corner of the room.

Arthur tried to ignore him. "But there is a chance that he might recover?"

Gaius frowned. "Despite the severity of his burns, I am more worried about the smoke he has inhaled. Until he wakes up, I have no way to know the extent of the damage done to his airways or brain."

Arthur's eyes widened at the implications of Gaius' words.

"His.. his brain?" asked Gwen, her voice unsteady.

"You might not know it, my lady, but people who die in a fire often die not from the actual flames but from the smoke." Gaius regarded Merlin's still form, grief etched on his face. "It is only a small mercy but it may spare the victims some pain."

Some irregularities had been reported to Arthur about Merlin's botched execution. Apparently, the men who had taken upon them the responsibility to "save" the king from Merlin had been in such a hurry to set the execution that the wood under the pyre had not been dry enough, or oiled, producing the thick smoke. Those men were currently held in the dungeons, awaiting the monarch's judgement.

They would be rotting where a long time, Arthur thought grimly.

A bolt of lightning flashed outside the windows, thunder resounding loudly in the physician's quarters.

Gwaine moved next to a window. "The storm is not fading, or moving away. This is unnatural."

"Of course it is unnatural," acknowledged Gaius. "This thunderstorm was conjured from magic."

"Magic?" Gwen asked. "Who summoned it, then?"

"Merlin's magic conjured the rainstorm when Arthur jumped on the pyre," explained Gaius. It had been Arthur's intuition, but it didn't make any sense to him.

Arthur's face fell. "Why didn't he do it before?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "To save himself?"

"I do not know. Maybe Merlin did not protect himself because he was convinced that it was his King's will."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock at the suggestion that Merlin might have let himself die because of him.

Gwaine sighed loudly, shaking his head in denial. "Merlin has never done as he was told before. He chose a dreadful time to start."

"Conjuring this deluge could not have been a deliberate decision from Merlin, as he was deeply unconscious already," Gaius clarified. "However, his magic is so finely attuned to Arthur that when it sensed a danger to him, it made sure he was safe."

"But, if he holds that kind of command of magic, why didn't he escape from the dungeons?" asked Arthur, desperate to understand Merlin's apparent willingness to die. "He is clearly powerful enough."

"I wish I knew, but only Merlin holds the answer to this question." Gaius regretted.

Looking at Merlin lying on the patient's bed, so broken, Arthur feared Merlin would never get a chance to reveal his reasons.

All Merlin had asked of him, begged of him, the last time they spoke, was for a chance to explain himself, but Arthur had shut him out, the king recalled in shame. He remembered the terrible resignation in Merlin's face when he had announced his impending execution. Had Merlin decided then that he was done with life?

"Leave us" asked the King, still staring at his motionless servant.

"Why?" spat Gwaine, crossing his arms. "So you can finish what you started when you tried to have him killed?"

Not even Gwen seemed surprised when Gwaine had said out loud what everyone, including Arthur, was thinking. Merlin's condition was his fault. They all knew it.

"No way. I am _not_ leaving you alone with him," insisted the knight.

"Gwaine–" started Gwen, empathic towards her heartbroken husband.

"He's right not to trust me," interrupted Arthur solemnly, unable to look away from the wounded man. "Merlin's state is on me and no one else. But I do swear that I had requested his release."

"You should have made sure Merlin was safe. He would have been safe with me but _you_ kept me from helping him!" Gwaine raised his voice in accusation. "How could you have just _left_ him with these people?"

Arthur felt his throat constrict, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. Gwaine was right. Why would those sycophants entrusted with Merlin's detention think any differently than the bigoted king who had condemned his most loyal servant to die?

"You turned your back on him as soon as you realised he had magic! Because all you saw was a sorcerer!" Gwaine accused, fists tightly clenched. "When I look at Merlin, I don't see a sorcerer. I see a friend, a son. I see a young man who might not get to live his life because of your prejudice."

"You're right," Arthur admitted, his mouth in a tight line. "But, for what it's worth, you have my word that no more harm will come to him."

Gwen looked her husband softly, eyes wet, as she lead the exhausted physician out of the room. A few instants had gone by when Gwaine reluctantly headed for the door, throwing Arthur one last condemning scowl before slamming the door on his way out.

Arthur kneeled next to Merlin's bed. He stared with haunted eyes at the marred face of his friend, mortified by of the enormity of where his closed-mindedness had gotten him.

"Merlin, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Arthur croaked, feeling tears sliding down his face.

The young king knew he was no less guilty then if he had murdered his best friend in cold blood.

"Please don't die," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

He doubled over and let his head fall on the bed next to his dying servant, where gut-wrenching sobs shook him.

* * *

TBC

Thank you for reading!

Reviewers: You guys are awesome! Thank you for your encouragements!


	6. Chapter 6

I had been more than a week since that horrible morning when Merlin had been grievously injured, but not much had changed since. Merlin's friends had kept a vigil next to his bed but he had shown no signs of awakening.

The young sorcerer was still lying in the physician's room, his life slowly ebbing away.

By Arthur's fault if not by his hand.

Gwen had tried unsuccessfully to alleviate her husband's guilt, saying that the outcome would have been different if Arthur hadn't found out about Merlin's magic in the worse possible way. It gave the young king little comfort. He couldn't even trust himself anymore.

He was more inclined to agree with Gwaine who, on the other hand, had made no secret of his resentment towards Arthur, telling him he was disgusted by how quickly he had turned on Merlin. Arthur lowered his head in shame at the memory. The knight had told Arthur that he had not deserved a friend like Merlin. But Gwaine hadn't left. He had stayed in Camelot, for Merlin alone. To protect him against prejudiced bastards, he had claimed.

Arthur knew the man was deliberately insulting him, since he was now the only person left in Camelot who had anything to do with Merlin's botched execution. The nobles and guards that had gone against his orders had been banished from Camelot, under penalty of death should they return. Any lands they owned on the kingdom's territory were to be seized by the crown.

Revenge was not in Arthur's heart. He had done enough harm already.

He recalled Gaius' cold civility as he had explained how Merlin had been helping them with his magic since he first came to Camelot. Often at the peril of his own life.

Arthur could not believe how blind he had been.

"It is not my place to divulge all of Merlin's secrets while he lives, Sire," the old physician had told Arthur when he had pushed him for more details. "I am quite certain there is fair amount he refrained to share even with me."

"Even with you? It must have been lonely," Arthur reflected sadly.

"It has been Merlin's burden since he came to Camelot. One that he was glad to bear, but it weighed heavily on his shoulders."

Gaius cleared his throat.

"If Merlin passes away, only then will I tell you everything I know." The old man hesitated for a second. "After that, I will leave Camelot."

Arthur had already resigned himself to the possibility. Merlin was like a son to Gaius. He would not want to stay and serve a king responsible for his death.

The monarch nodded reluctantly. "I understand."

How hopeless a king he must be. Gaius had stood loyally by Uther for decades, through the purge and his king's lack of faith in his advice. But it was Arthur's rule that would drive the dutiful physician away from Camelot.

Arthur held no doubt Gwaine would do the same.

He deserved it, though. He was the one that had turned his back on Merlin when he had begged for his chance to be heard. He abandoned him, left him alone and hopeless, knowing he would die, condemned by a man he had believed his friend.

Arthur found himself sitting yet again on a hard wooden chair next to Merlin's bed. All he could do now for his friend was to stay next to him, and try to let him know he wasn't alone anymore.

"I get it now, why you never told me about your magic. How can I not, after what happened," he admitted sadly.

While Merlin's upper body seemed to be recovering nicely, the same thing could unfortunately not be said for his feet and legs. Gaius had said that they had been burned so deeply that they would never fully heal. Not that Arthur could see anything under the warm feather comforter that Gwen had covered Merlin with. Even then, he could see several signs of Merlin's ordeal, from the scabbed wounds on his face to his shortly cropped hair. Merlin's singed hair had been chopped away the day before.

"I wish I had never found out about the magic, that you could have just kept on doing… whatever it is you did when I'm not looking."

"All you have done for me, and I never even realised. But you know what, even without the magic, you are important to Camelot. To Gwen and Gaius, to the knights… and to me. Even though I have treated you appallingly," Arthur confessed, ashamed. "You have been nothing but loyal to me. I fear your faith in me was misplaced."

"I realise you will most likely want to leave, I mean, why would you want to stay after what happened? But, should you choose to remain here with us, I vow that everything will be better. You have my word that you will never again be persecuted for what you are as long as you are in Camelot."

"You will be rewarded for what you have done for us. Not that you would care about that sort of thing, you are not the jewels and riches type, aren't you?" he joked without humour. "But if there is anything you wish for, you shall have it. We will hold a feast in your honour. You will sit next to me, it's your rightful place. You won't have to do anything you don't like anymore. No more training. No more cleaning up after me. No more insults. You can do any magic you want, I won't even bat an eye."

He leaned forward, closer to Merlin's ear.

"Come on, if you open your eyes, I'll even build a giant perch for that bloody dragon."

He rubbed his eyes and bowed his head. No amount of bargaining or silly promises would bring Merlin back.

"You are the truest friend I ever had. I was too proud to admit it. I wish I had told you before. If I had, maybe none of this would have come to pass," Arthur regretted, guilt eating at him.

"You could have escaped, Merlin. You could have stopped it from happening. Did you really let it happen? Because you thought I wanted you to die?" he asked, his voice quavering.

"I don't want you to die, old friend. More than anything, I want you to live."

Arthur fought against the tears that threatened to fall.

"Come back to us. Just… wake up."

He morosely lifted his head to look back at Merlin, suddenly taken aback as he realised Merlin's eyes were open. He fell on his knees next to the bed, smiling brightly at the sight of his friend's blue eyes.

"Hey, Merlin. Welcome back," he softly greeted.

His grin quickly fell when he noticed how unfocussed Merlin's eyes were. Wondering whether it might be due to shock or pain, he tried to meet Merlin's gaze.

"Don't worry, you're safe. We got you out." He tried to keep his tone calm and reassuring, despite his own anxiety. "Are you in pain?"

Merlin did not answer. He did not even glance towards Arthur.

"Merlin, can you hear me?" He gently grabbed his servant's face, desperately trying to get a response.

"Please, look at me!" he urged, his blood running cold.

* * *

To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

October had come and gone since Merlin had reopened his eyes.

The brief glimmer of hope Arthur had held back then had been cruelly crushed when Gaius had examined his unresponsive ward, delivering the shattering news. The smoke, the physician had said, had deprived Merlin's brain of the air it needed to function properly. His consciousness had left him.

Every day since then, Merlin had spent his days sitting in an armchair in the physician room, healing legs propped on a footrest, vacant eyes staring at nothing.

And every day since then, the monarch had spent almost every moment he could spare sitting by his friend's side.

Sometimes, he spoke to him in a futile attempt to tear Merlin from his torpor. Other times, he simply sat by his broken servant, tormenting himself with the horrible consequences of his actions, of his own intolerance and betrayal. His once quick-witted friend was a mere shadow of the man he used to be. Merlin used to fill a room by his simple presence.

Not anymore.

Nothing could ever assuage Arthur's guilt.

The king mournfully observed the empty shell of his manservant, sitting a bit crookedly in a hideous cushioned chair in the physician's quarters. He had not uttered a single word, made eye contact with anyone or gave the tiniest hint of consciousness since he "awoke".

Gwen had been a lot of help to Gaius, making sure the burden of his boy's care did not rest entirely on the old man's shoulders. It was her way of coping, Arthur was convinced. She was usually the one feeding Merlin, who only ate when fed. How Merlin would have resented being spoon-fed that way, he thought bitterly. Gwen also made sure he stayed warm, swaddling him in blankets. He was always cold to the touch.

So very cold and pale. Like some living, breathing corpse, Arthur morbidly thought.

Despite having survived his injuries, Merlin was still lost to them. The light in those once cheerful blue eyes had gone out. Arthur would never see that goofy smile again.

Gaius had lost almost all hope of his ward recovering when he had failed to show any signs of improvement weeks after opening his eyes. Even the druids had tried to help Merlin. While his burns on his feet and legs had lessened, efforts to bring him back to true consciousness had been to no avail.

"I worry that, despite our best efforts, Merlin will eventually die," Gaius predicted, to his own chagrin.

The king felt as if his breath was taken away from him. "But he is awake and eating."

"Merlin's body is getting weak. He is not getting enough sustenance. He is slowly losing weight and his muscles are getting atrophied from the lack of movement."

Arthur had already seen it. There was no way he could have failed to notice how Merlin had shrunk into a frail thing in so little time.

"It hurts me to say it," the old man continued, "but it is only a matter of time before his body gives out entirely."

Arthur froze for a moment, taking in the crushing information.

"You are telling me that Merlin will remain a vegetable, just wasting away until he dies. I cannot accept that, Gaius!" Arthur despaired. "I can't lose him. There has to be something! A way to reach Merlin. A magical cure. Anything!"

"I do not know, Sire. If I did, I would already have told you. You know how much that boy means to me."

Gaius paused, and Arthur sensed an hesitation in the old physician.

"But the great dragon might know something I don't," he added.

"You mean the one that attacked Camelot? The one Merlin was speaking to that night?"

Gaius nodded, his features grim.

Arthur furrowed his brow. Would he be willing to confront the dragon if it meant saving Merlin's life?

He didn't have to reflect on it a long time.

"How can we reach it?" he asked.

Gaius eyed Arthur severely. "So, now that you need something, «conspiring with a dragon» is acceptable?"

Arthur looked away from the physician, his eyes landing on the ugly armchair and it's fading inhabitant. "I'm so sorry Gaius. You know I am," he apologised. Arthur had been so overwhelmed by his own guilt, he had not noticed the silent resentment growing in Gaius.

"I am the one that should apologize, Sire. That was uncalled for."

"You have the right to be angry at me, Gaius. I can't forgive myself for what happened to Merlin."

A heavy and uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Gaius cleared his throat. "As for your question, there is only one way to reach the Great Dragon. One unfortunately unavailable to us as only a dragonlord may summon him."

Arthur frowned. "And the last one died years ago."

"Actually, there is another," Gaius corrected. "A dragonlord inherits his power when his father dies. When Balinor passed away, his power transferred over to his son."

"Then we have to find him!" Arthur said eagerly. "Ask him to summon the dragon!"

"Unfortunately, he is sitting right there," regretted Gaius, looking dejectedly at the boy wrapped in blankets.

"Merlin?" Arthur stammered, astonished by the revelation. "You mean… Balinor was his father? He is a dragonlord?"

"Yes. And that is how the dragon's attacks on Camelot were stopped. And it is also the reason it would be difficult, if not impossible, to locate him since Merlin forbade him from coming near the city without his permission," Gaius explained grimly.

Arthur attempted with great difficulty to envision scrawny, clumsy Merlin commanding such a powerful creature.

"So if we want to find the dragon, we have to do it on our own."

"I will look into it in the morning, but I fear my books will have little to offer. For now, you should try to get some rest of your own, Sire."

"Of course, Gaius. I had not realised the hour was so late."

Before taking his leave, Arthur crouched in front of Merlin. As usual, he tried to catch his friend's gaze, with no success.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he whispered. "Good night, Merlin."

* * *

A gloomy drizzle fell upon Camelot's knights as they returned from their patrol. Lately, groups of mercenaries had been found closer to Camelot then ever and patrols had consequently been doubled.

Arthur felt the cold piercing him and he tightened his cape around him. It did nothing to numb the dull ache that had settled in him. Without Merlin steadfast presence at his side, he felt like he was missing a limb, or worse. The knights were demoralised too. They had come to consider the young servant as one of their own and all grieved deeply for their friend. Disheartened by their leader's melancholy as well, troop morale was hopelessly low.

On their way home, the patrol encountered a flow of a new group of refugees walking towards the city, strenuously dragging their feet along the muddy road. Arthur dismounted his horse near a young family.

"Hi, my name is Arthur. What's yours?" he asked with a gentle smile, addressing a young girl in a raggedy dress.

"I'm Elvie," she timidly replied.

"That's a pretty name. You look tired, Elvie. Would you like to take a ride on my horse instead of walking?"

She looked to her parents, who promptly nodded their approval as they saw their king seating Elvie his royal steed. Arthur was glad to see his men doing the same, lending their horses to the young and the elderly. Percival even picked up three wide-eyed toddlers, amazed at by the brawny knight's strength. He put one on his shoulders, settled the other two in his arms, and headed to Camelot.

"May I?" he asked Elvie's mother, gesturing to the sleeping infant she was holding to her chest.

He entrusted the baby to the girl and took the horse's reins in his hands, slowly guiding it back to the city.

"Thank you, my lord" said the two children's father, a sturdy man who seemed about his own age. They were traveling light, Arthur noticed. When he asked the man about it, he learned that they had left their home hurriedly in the middle of the night. There had been no time for packing anything more than bare necessities.

"Don't worry," reassured the king. "We will take good care of you and your family."

Arthur was weary, but it was nothing compared to the exhaustion of the people they ware assisting. Many had been walking for days, with no shelter from the chilly November weather, sometimes relying on foraging for what little food they could find.

The kingdom had fallen into dark times. Arthur could not believe how quickly they had gone from peace to a genuine threat of civil war.

Instead of leaving as ordered, the banished nobles who had disobeyed his orders had returned to their lands where, along with a few powerful retainers, they had raised levies against Arthur, daring him to make the first move. However, the king wouldn't wage war on his own citizens, even if it meant weakening his own power. He would have to find another way.

Refugees had been steadily arriving from those lands, consisting mostly of loyal citizens who refused to be conscripted to fight against Camelot or who feared retaliation for their allegiance to the king. Camelot's citizens were nothing if not kind to the refugees, welcoming them in their own homes, but if they kept coming, Camelot's authorities would soon lack space to shelter them and food to feed the ever growing population.

According to the reports the king was receiving, even the once peaceful druids were fighting amongst themselves. Over Merlin's fate, of all things. Apparently, a number of magic users saw Merlin as some kind of saviour. Some had even proclaimed him a martyr. Arthur wasn't sure they were wrong.

The king now spent most of his time in discussions with his advisors or at round table meetings, trying to come up with solutions to the unrest and deciding where to send soldiers, as they were already stretched thin. If he wasn't able to keep peace within the land, it was only a matter of time before enemies attempted to take advantage of Camelot's weakened state.

* * *

Night had fallen when Arthur finally able to head back to the castle, having left Elvie and her family in the care of a compassionate couple of cobblers. He shuffled wearily along the streets of Camelot, cold, wet, and utterly exhausted. It would be too late to visit Merlin, he reflected miserably, looking up at the moon shining brightly above Camelot.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" someone called nearby as Arthur felt a stranger's shoulder bump into his own.

"I'm sorry, my friend," Arthur apologised, eager to get back home and not wanting to cause a scene.

Somebody scoffed nearby.

"Be careful now," a gruff voice warned. "You don't want to know what our dear king does to his friends."

Arthur turned around to recognise Gwaine, standing near the Rising Sun tavern, where the dark haired knight often went nowadays to drown his sorrows, particularly after having visited Merlin.

"Watch what you say, Sir Gwaine," Arthur cautioned.

"Or what? You will send me to the pyre too?" Gwaine taunted, his tone dripping with contempt. "Because if you do, please don't bother getting me out at the last minute."

Arthur shoved Gwaine, making him back away a few steps.

"I did it! It's my fault!" Arthur yelled, his face flushed. "I condemned the best friend you ever had to a slow and painful death. What are you going to do about it?"

"Don't test me, princess." Gwaine clenched his fists, his jaw tense, as he repositioned himself to stand face to face with the king.

"Come on, Gwaine! You have been aching to do this since that day!" Arthur bellowed, his arms held wide in provocation. "Well, now is your chance!"

He shoved Gwaine again, yearning to replace the dull ache he was constantly feeling inside with real pain. In a quick move, the dark haired knight used Arthur's momentum to send him sprawling to the pavement. He stood above him, features severe and arms crossed.

"Yeah, it is your fault. There's no denying that. But provoking me won't work. For what it's worth, you are doing a pretty good job of punishing yourself." Arthur blinked in surprise as the sullen knight went on. "Merlin wouldn't want to see you like this. You're a mess. Pull yourself together."

Gwaine turned his back on him, heading back inside the tavern without looking back at the deflated king lying on the rough pavement.

* * *

The following day, after long, tedious hours with various advisors and administrators, followed by a round table gathering, from which Gwaine was obviously absent, the worn out king was finally able to visit the physician's chambers.

"Sire, could you please look after Merlin for a little while?" Gaius asked when Arthur stepped in. "I have an errand to run at the guard's barracks. I should not be gone long."

Arthur nodded and took a seat next to Merlin, sitting as usual in the physician's cushioned seat, his hollow eyes staring into nothingness. It pained him to see Merlin in this condition, seeing him fading day by day, yet things often seemed clearer whenever he spoke with Merlin.

Spoke to Merlin, Arthur mentally corrected himself, not with Merlin. That would never happen again.

"Every decision I have made since that dreadful day has been the wrong one," he stated in anguish.

"I don't know what I should do anymore. I am doubtful of every single decision I take. And those so-called advisors! They're either worthless bootlickers, only telling me what they think I want to hear, or they put their own interests above Camelot's."

Merlin had never done that. He had spoken his mind at every turn, never minding the consequences, addressing the King of Camelot as he would anybody. His royal status had never mattered to him. Of course, Arthur hadn't known back then that Merlin was an all-powerful sorcerer. One who had lowered himself to the modest position of servant to an arrogant prince.

He had always been too proud to show Merlin how much he truly valued his opinion. How ridiculous that felt now that he was yearning to hear the wise advice that, he knew, would never come.

"I am lost, Merlin," Arthur confessed, distraught.

"We are on the brink of civil war, even the druids are fighting amongst themselves. The city is overflowing with refugees, Camelot's border defences are stretched to their limits and mercenaries terrify the outlying villages."

Arthur slumped in his chair. "I don't know what to do. I can't even trust myself to make the right decisions anymore."

Without a strong leader, Camelot was like a ship without it's captain, drifting in a merciless sea of unrest and rebellion. Merlin had been his compass, guiding him whenever he had lost his way. His servant's constant presence beside him had made him a better person, a better king. How could he have been so blind, never realizing what he had until he lost it?

"Please tell me what I should do," implored the despairing king, his voice breaking as he grabbed his servant's thin shoulders.

He stared at the broken man's face, foolishly hoping for a sign from him, any indication that he was doing the right thing, taking good decisions. All he saw was the same expressionless face, devoid of anything that made him Merlin.

"Snap out of it!" he shouted, his voice full of sorrow, losing the firm grip he usually had on his emotions.

He shook his friend, aching for a reaction from him. The dark-haired head lolled back and forth, offering no resistance to the abuse.

"Come on, Merlin! Wake up! Please!"

Arthur suddenly unhanded the boy, as if shocked. Even in this condition, he was still hurting Merlin. Hadn't he already done enough damage?

"I'm so sorry," he choked, backing off with shaky steps.

An instant later, the physician reappeared in the room. Arthur hurried out without a word, leaving a confused Gaius in his wake.

* * *

Gwen found her husband brooding in his study. She approached him silently. She had noticed how Arthur had been struggling since Merlin's botched execution, they all were, but she was concerned. Arthur was spiralling into a dark place.

"Gwaine told me what happened yesterday," Gwen started gently. "How you tried to provoke him into a fight."

"Then Gwaine should learn to keep his mouth shut," he snapped, his shoulders tense.

"He is worried about you. We all are."

"Gwaine hates me." Arthur paused a second. "I hate myself."

She took his hand in her own. "Arthur…"

"Don't touch me. I ruin _everything_. How can you even stand me?" He asked, disgusted.

"I love you." He pulled at his hand but Gwen held if firmly. "You should give yourself a chance. You are overworked, stressed out and grieving. When was the last time you slept a full night?"

Arthur had never told her about the nightmares plaguing his guilty mind. In his dreams, he was the one who lit the pyre, observing coldly as Merlin screamed in pain as the flames engulfed his body. Whenever he dreamt of something else, Merlin followed him like he used to, but his ravaged skin hung in bloody tatters and he glared at him with accusing eyes.

"I don't know," he confessed. "I don't even feel like myself anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Ever since that cursed day, I feel like there is this gaping hole in my chest." Arthur clutched at his chest, taking in a shaky breath. "As if a part of me burned on that pyre along with Merlin."

"You never truly realized it before, but there is a strong bond between you two."

"I know."

"Then you also know that Merlin wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what happened."

"I don't even care about the magic and the lies anymore. Or about that bloody dragon," he admitted, morose. "I just miss my friend."

She caressed his cheek. "I know you do," she said, empathic to her husband's chagrin.

"But I killed him." He looked away, his eyes wet. "I killed Merlin."

"Arthur, you didn't light that pyre," she pleaded earnestly. "You saved his life."

"We might still be breathing, but I destroyed everything that made him Merlin. By getting him out of the fire, I condemned him to a slow death instead of a quick one. I only made it worse."

"Don't say that. I, for one, still believe Merlin might somehow make his way back to us."

Arthur looked at her sadly. "I wish I shared your optimism. Even Gaius has given up hope."

"You made a mistake. A dreadful one. But no amount of self-loathing is going to change that. Camelot needs its king. We all need you."

She tenderly wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close, wishing she could make everything better. For the moment, she would have to settle for comforting her love in his time of need.

* * *

TBC  
Thank you for reading! And my promise of a happy ending still holds!


	8. Chapter 8

The telltale clatter of battle resounded near the military stronghold. Mercenaries had stormed the nearby settlement two days ago, and the retreating villagers had taken refuge in the fortified outpost, taking arms to help the soldiers.

Having received an urgent request for help from the leader of the garrison, King Arthur had led the reinforcements, and most of his knights had followed him, bar Gwaine, decreasing yet again the number of soldiers protecting the citadel. It could not be helped. If the stronghold fell into enemy hands, Camelot would be their next logical step.

The king had not expected that this many mercenaries could make it so deep into Camelot's territory. If they kept on coming, Camelot's troops would soon be utterly outnumbered.

Arthur whirled around, barely dodging a brutal mace attack, falling to his knee. A vicious mercenary smirked above him as he raised his weapon again him when a deafening roar thundered across the battlefield, startling his assailant. Seizing this unexpected opportunity to gain the upper hand, Arthur got up and swiftly plunged his sword in the mercenary's chest. His opponent fell to the ground, lifeless.

He glanced up to assess what new menace had appeared when the great dragon swooped nearby, sending the surrounding men fleeing in terror as fire rained upon them.

For a daunting moment, the king feared the beast had come to get his revenge for his dragonlord's tragic fate before he realised, astonished, that only enemy troops were being targeted by the fiery attacks.

"Hold your ground!" He commanded his men. "Don't attack the dragon! Keep your attacks focused on the enemy!"

They might had been outnumbered, but Camelot's soldiers were well-trained and promptly followed their leader's orders. The enemies were quickly routed, abandoning the battle in confusion as they fled towards the surrounding forest.

"Follow the stragglers!" the king ordered. "Don't let them escape!"

The ground shook under his feet as the great beast landed nearby, towering over the land. Arthur cautiously approached the dragon, Excalibur still unsheathed, feeling just as intimidating as a mouse armed with a toothpick.

"I will not hurt you, young Pendragon," claimed the dragon. "I only wish to speak with you."

"Why should I believe you?" Arthur stood tall, mustering all the bravado he could in front of the formidable creature.

"If I had wanted you to die today, you would have already have drawn your last breath," the dragon casually pointed out, as if he wasn't menacing the king of Camelot but merely stating a fact. "Instead, I helped you vanquish your attackers"

"Why did you help us?" Arthur asked.

"The young warlock is the last of my kin. It is what he would have wanted."

"You attacked Camelot and now you claim that you wish to help?"

Yellow eyes stared severely at the blonde knight. "My actions at that time were led by anger and inexcusable. As were yours when you also failed to listen to Merlin. You and I are more alike than you think."

Arthur bit his lower lip, troubled by the condemnatory rebuke.

"You are grieving the loss of the young warlock, as I am," the dragon continued.

"What can we do to help him?" asked Arthur eagerly. "Gaius told me you might know a way."

"If you assume that we could heal Merlin by magical means, then you are wrong. We cannot help the young warlock."

Arthur's heart sank. "I refuse to believe that there is nothing I can do!" he exclaimed, his hope crushed.

He had been wishing for an opportunity to talk with the dragon for so long and it had been pointless. They had been fooling themselves into thinking they could restore Merlin. There would find no answers here.

The dragon tilted his head. "I did not say that nothing could be done," he corrected.

"What then?"

"There is a prophecy about Emrys and the Once and Future King. Together, they are supposed to unite the lands of Albion."

"What does that have to do with Merlin?" Arthur knit his brow, annoyed.

"Everything! You, Arthur Pendragon, are the Once and Future King. To assist you, destiny had granted you a guardian, Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the land. That guardian now lies broken in your castle."

Arthur frowned, grim, feeling the dragon's piercing golden gaze scrutinizing him.

"You and Merlin share a destiny that remains unfulfilled. It rests on your shoulders now to unite Albion and bring magic back into the land."

Arthur froze, confounded, his mouth slightly agape.

"Uniting Albion? And… and _magic_?" he blurted out. "How can this be the first time I hear about this?"

"You were not yet ready for this knowledge. If you had been, Merlin would still be standing by your side," the dragon explained. "Until you were ready to embrace your destiny, it had been the young warlock's responsibility to protect you and advise you, even though the deception deeply troubled him."

Words failed Arthur, his thoughts went reeling. Gaius had told him that Merlin had been protecting him, of course, but he hadn't mentioned anything about a prophecy. What kind of hidden battle had his friend been waging, alone, while Arthur remained unaware his burden?

"Merlin believed in you. Prove him right. You must finish alone the work he started."

"I don't know if I can do this without Merlin," confessed Arthur, painfully aware of the absence by his side.

"You should have thought of that before you decided to have him killed!" snapped the great beast, sharp teeth bared, smoke coming out of his flaring nostrils.

The king took a step backwards, right hand hovering over Excalibur's pommel. He wondered if the great beast would change his mind and decide have him for dinner.

"But I have not come here to blame you for Merlin's condition," stated the dragon, shaking his head at his sudden outburst. "I came to warn you of a threat in Camelot."

"What sort of threat?"

"Without Merlin to protect it, Camelot is weakened your enemies have sensed it. They have already started to make their move."

"Camelot is still strong. We will drive them back."

"Your enemies were not targeting this outpost," the magical creature elaborated. "Some of them have already made their way to the city. This attack was but a mere diversion with a much better prize. You must hurry back to Camelot."

"But their numbers are surely not strong enough to take Camelot," argued Arthur, unsure.

"Their objective was not the citadel. Consider this, young king. Why go though the trouble of launching an attack on the citadel when they can simply aim for the tremendous source of power within its walls?"

"Merlin!" exclaimed the king in sudden realisation, his eyes already searching for his horse.

"They wish to capture him and use his magic for their own. He is vulnerable and by coming here, have you left him exposed."

The dragon spread his wings, readying himself to take flight.

"I will get rid of what remains of the invaders. You must make haste. Reach Merlin before they do or I fear all will be lost."

* * *

The king rushed back to Camelot, the cold autumn wind whistling painfully in his ears as he pushed his stallion in a frenetic race. His knights struggled to keep up with him, following Arthur's sprinting horse from a distance.

When he finally arrived to the castle, he was unsurprised by the lack of signs of struggle. If Merlin was the enemy's objective, stealth would be their chosen strategy.

He swiftly dismounted his exhausted horse and headed to the physician's quarters in a mad dash, dreading what he would discover there. Finding the door closed and barred, he braced himself and it kicked open.

The physician's main room was a complete mess. The worktable had been was overturned, books and documents laid scattered all over the floor. Glass vials were broken in hundreds of sharp fragments, their splattered contents bestowing the surrounding air a nauseating medicinal scent. Five people laid unconscious on the floor.

In the middle of the chaos stood Merlin, his face blank, eyes staring vacantly into nothingness.


	9. Chapter 9

The young monarch observed sternly as Merlin's still unconscious assailants were taken to the dungeons before turning to face the physician.

The old man had just came back to his chambers after having been alerted of what had just transpired. Having previously left Merlin in Gwaine's care, he was concerned about the knight's whereabouts. Arthur agreed worriedly, Gwaine would never have left Merlin on his own.

"He appears to be exactly the same, Sire," Gaius pronounced, having examined his ward.

"When I saw him standing, I thought…"

Arthur fell silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. A glance at the physician told him he had held the same hope.

A faint scratching noise interrupted the gloomy silence.

"I have been having a problem with mice lately," explained Gaius, obviously not troubled. "I will have to set up traps later."

The noise came back, this time much louder.

Arthur headed to Gaius' closet, where the source of the noise had seemed to come from, and opened the door. To his surprise, he found Gwaine, tightly bound and gagged, with the remnants of a bloody nose.

"I found your mouse, Gaius. Ugly thing. Big and scruffy."

Gwaine glowered silently.

"Although I'm not sure you have a trap big enough for it," Arthur added with a grin as he removed the gag from Gwaine's mouth.

"Very funny, Princess," Gwaine grumbled. "Where is Merlin? Is he okay?"

"Merlin is safe, he's right here," Arthur reassured. "Gaius is examining him."

"Then get me out of this bloody closet."

Arthur smirked. "Only if you say please."

Gwaine clenched his teeth, glaring at his king.

As soon as Arthur had finished untying him, Gwaine brushed off the ropes to go check on Merlin, who was sitting a bit crookedly at his familiar place on the physician's armchair. If not for the mess in the room, it would have looked as if nothing had occurred.

"What the hell happened?" Gwaine asked.

"We were hoping you could tell us," replied Arthur, slightly disappointed. "Can you at least tell us what happened before you got to make friends with Gaius' closet."

Gwaine huffed. "These guys came out of nowhere. No idea how they got pass the guards, but I think it had something to do with magic."

"Magic?" asked Gaius "You're sure?"

"Pretty much. One of them even bore druid markings. Anyway, I was jumped by a huge beast of a man." Gwaine emphasised his point by raising his arms in a wide, menacing posture. "He had murder in his eyes, I can tell you that. I could have taken him on, of course, but I got paralysed by a spell."

The dragon had warned Arthur that people wanted Merlin's magic but he wouldn't have thought that people already possessing magic would still covet Merlin's. The thought of this vermin using his friend as their puppet infuriated him.

"They tied me up and threw me in there," Gwaine continued, pointing to the closet. "Next thing I knew, there was a bright flash of light under the door and I heard a great crashing noise. Then, for a long time, there was nothing until Arthur barged in."

"But did you see Merlin what happened with Merlin? Was he aware?"

Gwaine shook his head. "No, he was the same. Why do you ask?"

Arthur ignored him for the moment. "Gaius, what do you think happened?"

"It's only a hypothesis, but Merlin's magic probably reacted when they tried to grab him."

Gwaine looked disbelievingly between the messy room and his silent friend, a smile of wonderment slowly appearing on his face.

"Serves them right," the knight said. "But what did they want with Merlin?"

"That's why I'm back. The great dragon came to warn me that our enemies attacked the outpost at the same time to double as a diversion. Merlin's assailants were after him for his magic, but I guess they were wrong thinking they could use it for their own benefit."

"You spoke to the dragon?" Gaius eagerly asked. "Did you get to ask him about Merlin's condition?"

"I did." He hesitated, grim. He hated to be the bearer of such terrible news. "He told me that there is nothing we can do to help Merlin get better. I'm so sorry, Gaius."

Gaius lowered his head but Arthur could see the pain in the eyes of the old man who just seen his last hope crushed. He moved in front of Merlin, crouching. His wrinkly hands softly grasped his ward's blank face and gently turned it towards him.

"I'm so sorry, my boy," he whispered, his voice shaking. He leaned his forehead against Merlin's own as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Arthur and Gwaine stood in silence, their hearts aching along with the old man's. The already dim hope of seeing their friend restored was fading out, and the dragon had told him that there was nothing they could do to help Merlin. But he had entrusted Arthur with a mission.

With a heartbroken sigh, Gaius unhanded his inexpressive ward and slowly got up.

"Gaius," Arthur said, "I'm sorry but I have to ask. The dragon told be a peculiar story. One about a wizard called Emrys and a prophecy. "

Gaius raised his eyebrow.

"And did the dragon also tell you who the prophecy referred to?"

"He did. Apparently, it's about Merlin and myself. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"I admit that the idea had crossed my mind but you had just lost a friend and I did not wish to trouble you with it. Destiny had seen fit to place the burden of prophecy on Merlin alone, I am uncertain if it could still come to pass without him."

"Well, the dragon had no such qualms. He told me it was up to me now. I owe it to Merlin to finish what he started," Arthur stated, his voice now clear and confident. "Apparently, I have a lot of work ahead. Will you help me?"

The physician nodded. "I will gladly provide any assistance you require."

"You can count on me," added Gwaine with a slight grin. "So, where do we start?"

King Arthur stood tall.

"With the legalisation of magic."

* * *

Arthur groaned in frustration. His eyes narrowed as he read yet again a draft of the new and improved law on magic. He had been sitting at his desk for hours, working on it, a painful headache now drilling holes in his head.

The legalisation of magic. It had seemed so straightforward when he had publicly announced it, more than a fortnight ago, by simply lifting the ban.

Until he realised what a mistake that had been.

While his decision had not been met with the general outcry one could have expected, there still had been a choir of protest and disagreement. Even those who received favourably the return of magic agreed that it's use in Camelot needed clear guidelines of the "don't cast a spell on your neighbour's bratty child" kind.

They quickly got the preliminary law on magic out as a way of appeasing Camelot's citizens, which included rules that should have been obvious. Don't use magic to do harm. Don't do anything usually forbidden without magic. No love spells were allowed. They learned the hard way that this clause would have to be extended to any mind-altering spell in the new version of the law.

The first version also stated that magic could not be used for personal gain but Arthur soon realised that was not feasible, especially if they wanted to attract healers. Without attracting charlatans, he noted, letting out a long sigh.

Working on fixing the loopholes and the ambiguities in the law on magic seemed like all he had been doing lately. It was tedious work. Since almost all expertise on magic had been lost during the purge, Gaius had reached to the druids for help. The physician had also been informative, explaining that while it might seem like a good idea to prohibit the use of destructive magic, there were a lot of situations where it could prove beneficial.

More than anything, Arthur would have wished to get Merlin's input. Not even because he was a magic user himself, but because of his invaluable advice. As much as the king had enjoyed mocking the servant about his supposed mental affliction, Merlin had always been so bright. Peculiarly insightful as well, although he now knew why.

Arthur massaged his temples with his palms. He would never have thought that allowing magic back would have been so complicated. A knock on his door interrupted his musings.

Leon and Percival marched in, their features grave. "Sire, Merlin is missing."

Arthur swiftly got up, documents forgotten. "Did anybody see who took him?"

"No," replied Percival.

"What about the people who tried to take him before?"

"Still in the dungeons. They claim they had nothing to do it."

"Percival, have a search in the castle and the city launched," Arthur ordered. "Speak to the guards and the servants, ask if they saw anybody or anything unusual."

"Yes, Sire." The strong knight nodded, promptly leaving to follow his king's orders.

"Leon, how could nobody have seen what happened? Why was Merlin left alone?"

"That's the strange thing. He wasn't. Gaius swears he never even left the room."

Arthur rushed to the physician's chambers to investigate, closely followed by Leon. The sight of a frazzled Gaius pacing across the room greeted them as he entered.

"Gaius, what happened?"

"I don't understand. I was with him the whole time." The old physician's voice was shaking. "I turned his back on him only for a minute, researching about a rare disease. When I looked back, he was simply gone."

"He can't have just walked out!" exclaimed Arthur.

So it had happened after all. Arthur ran his hands through his hair, mind racing, furious at his own negligence. The dragon had warned him that ill-intentioned people were after Merlin but he had felt so confident when they failed the last time that he hadn't even thought of reinforcing the security around the warlock. How did Merlin's abductors manage to take him? Had they found a way to stop his magic, leaving him vulnerable?

There was not a single shred of evidence of what had occurred anywhere, except for the fact that Merlin's blasted armchair was still warm.


	10. Chapter 10

They ended up discovering that Merlin _had_ indeed just walked out. After hours of frantic searching, interrogating anyone who could have seen something useful, the missing boy was found in a lower part of town, simply sitting on the edge of a stone fountain.

Arthur watched him sadly, a small ache growing in his heart. In these peaceful surroundings, Merlin appeared as if he was daydreaming. He looked almost normal. The warlock's impassive face was turned towards a small house on the other side of the road.

"That is an odd coincidence," Gaius remarked, a slight frown on his worn features. "I was there earlier today."

"You know these folks?" asked Gwaine. "We should ask them if they saw anything."

Gaius nodded and slowly made his way towards the small stone house. He paused in front of the front door. "All right, we can ask, but let's keep our visit short. Their son is gravely ill, I wouldn't wish to disturb them any longer than necessary."

The physician knocked on the wooden door. A middle-aged woman opened it, beaming at the sight of the old physician.

"Oh, Gaius! Thank you so much," the woman said, joyful relief in her voice instead of sorrow. "Our son, he is much better."

Gaius smiled at the encouraging news. "I am glad. May I please examine him?"

"Of course!" she enthusiastically replied.

Gaius headed inside but Arthur did not follow. There was no way he was letting Merlin out of his sight, less he would disappear again.

"Gwaine, stay with Gaius," he ordered. "I will take Merlin back to the castle. I don't want to leave him alone. Just let me know if you find out anything."

"Sure thing, Princess. But try not to blink, all right?" Gwaine warned jokingly. "Just in case Merlin tries to go "poof" again."

To his surprise, Arthur was able to lead his apathetic friend all the way back to his home in the physician's quarters. All attempts to engage him in conversation were unproductive as always, but Arthur was somehow relieved to notice that Merlin was apparently not hampered in his movements by the scarring on his legs.

As the young king guided his friend down in a sitting position, he wondered what this escapade meant for Merlin, futilely trying to curb his hope.

After a short wait, Gaius entered the room. He was soon followed by Gwaine, carrying a platter in his hands. Merlin's meal. Arthur silently admonished himself for having overlooked this. Merlin was already getting so thin. When was the last time he had eaten?

Gwaine sat in front of Merlin to feed him while Gaius approached the king to confirm that his patient was indeed recovering.

"That's good. I'm glad the boy is better, but why was Merlin even there?"

"Sire, this child was extremely ill. I feared for his life," explained the old man, his tone grave. "There is no known cure in the physician's arts for his condition."

"You think Merlin cured him?"

"It might be. I don't see any other explanation."

Arthur smiled brightly. "So Merlin is getting better!"

"Maybe, Sire." Gaius pressed his lips in a tight line.

"But you don't think so."

"It is too soon to say. We must not get ahead of ourselves," the physician stated, clearly not sharing his king's enthusiasm.

The king creased his brow. "Be honest with me, Gaius."

"Merlin is no longer getting worse and we should not have to fear for his life anymore. Nonetheless, there have been no changes in his mental state."

"He is standing up and walking," Arthur argued before pointing to Merlin and Gwaine. "Look at him, he's even eating better."

"It is only a theory, Sire, but I believe Merlin's magic is taking control of his body. It is a part of him, as natural as breathing. And just as his lungs keep breathing, his magic does the same thing it has always done, which is helping people."

"Secretly."

The physician raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Arthur closed his eyes in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This will require a lot of supervision."

"If his magic truly replicates his Merlin's actions, you might find that no matter the guard we keep him under, he will be able to elude us. He always was," Gaius pointed out, a rare smile appearing on his weary face.

From his seat next in front of Merlin, Gwaine threw back his head and let out a loud laugh.

"I knew was a sneaky one," complained Arthur with a half smile. "I never realized just how much."

"Why would you even want to stop him?" Gwaine asked. "His magic might be pulling the strings, but Merlin would wish to help."

"Gwaine has a point," Gaius agreed. "Merlin could still do a lot of good. I know it is what he would want."

"What Merlin wanted got him in trouble all the time," argued Arthur. "We have to keep him safe."

"Apparently, he can take care of himself," a smug Gwaine held.

And this was how Merlin was occasionally seen wandering the streets of Camelot.

Tales of magical occurrences taking place whenever the strange boy was sighted began to spread through the city, though nobody had ever witnessed him doing actual magic. Injuries were healed, accidents were prevented, illnesses were cured. Thieves tripped over thin air, now and again landing at the feet of an amused king.

People even found their flower beds blooming.

"Still a girl, Merlin. It's early December, you might want to tone it down," advised Arthur during one of Merlin's escapades. Not that the silent sorcerer would heed his word. He never had before, why start now?

It felt odd, walking along the streets of Camelot, following this strange version of Merlin. Whereas normal Merlin, whatever normal meant for one such as Merlin, used to be noisy and fumbling, this one was completely quiet. It felt like stalking a ghost.

From what Arthur had been able to observe from afar, Merlin never touched a single thing, doors opening by magic in front of him. Once what Merlin set out to do had been accomplished, he simply made his way back to the physician's room and that damned armchair Arthur now loathed.

He wanted to destroy the bloody thing.

Gaius had been right in his assumptions. The physician had been astounded and pleased to notice that, while Merlin's magic was never noticeable whenever anybody was looking, it flowed freely if Gaius was the only one observing.

The king knew by now that he would not get his friend back, not the way he used to be. The bright and cheerful Merlin he had known was gone but he would treasure his memories of his time with him. Arthur would always grieve the loss of his best friend, although, since his discussion with the dragon, he had once again found a sense of purpose.

With the ban on magic now lifted, some magic users had started coming back to Camelot and the unrest among the druids was mostly gone.

The rebellion had also been quelled. With so many untrained men coerced into taking arms against their king, their opponent's spirits had proven weak. Reports of attacks from a menacing dragon in the feuding lands eventually turned the tide, people figuring their best chance laid with King Arthur who was, after all, a reputed dragon slayer. The leaders of the rebellion had been captured. Arthur had given them a second chance by banishing them after Merlin's botched execution. They would not live to get a third.

Slowly, Arthur had started working towards his ultimate ambition of one day uniting the land. Peace throughout Albion would have to be the first step. Discussions with other rulers were making great progress despite of countless obstacles and some long-standing feuds. Mentalities would take a long time to change but the young king was confident that they would eventually get there.

"I hope you would have been pleased," Arthur said to Merlin during his evening visit.

Merlin kept staring into nothing, his face expressionless, but Arthur was not expecting a reply anymore. His friend's presence would have to suffice.

"I'm sure he would have."

Arthur turned around and smiled at Guinevere. He had been so deep in thoughts, talking to Merlin, that he had not even noticed her arrival. He rose from his seat next to the silent boy.

"It's getting late," he said as he embraced his wife. "I'm going to bed."

"Then I'll see you soon."

Arthur glanced back at Merlin before taking his leave, his eyes betraying his sorrow.

Gwen heard the wooden door close behind him. Sitting beside Merlin, she took his hands in her own, rubbing them gently. They were always so very cold now, ever since the fire took away their loyal friend, leaving behind a broken vessel.

"Hello Merlin. You seem well," she began awkwardly. "I wanted to thank you for all the good you have done around Camelot lately."

While it was nice to know that part of her friend was living on, she could not believe that was all. Everything the warlock had done recently felt so… Merlin.

"Gaius says that you, or more likely your magic, sense when someone needs your help. Well… Arthur sorely needs it… Needs _you_ ," she added, a slight tremolo in her voice. "Can you feel it? You have always been so devoted to him, how could you not?"

Although Arthur's work had improved the lives of everyone in Camelot, and she could not have been prouder of him, a persistent melancholy had settled in her husband's heart. Gwen feared that the sadness would never leave him.

She moved her right hand to brush Merlin's cheek.

"I know it's a fool's hope, but I have come to realise that when it comes to you, I should expect the unexpected."

Gwen covered Merlin with a blanket, observing her friend's vacant face with a bittersweet smile.

She laid a soft kiss on his forehead. "Arthur needs you by his side, Merlin."

* * *

To be continued

Thank you for reading! Reviews are love! :)


	11. Chapter 11

A great bonfire was being built in the town's square, yet another change that the citizens of Camelot would have to get accustomed to. While the winter solstice festivities traditionally took place in the castle's courtyard, the king had been uneasy at building a large fire there, right where that cursed pyre had stood.

People didn't seem to mind the new setting of the festivities, though. They smiled and waved at their king, full of enthusiasm after the difficult year they had been through. Tonight was the longest night of the year, but the days would get longer and the sun would be making its way back. It was an night for celebration.

While the king shared their optimism for the upcoming year, it felt like yet another harsh reminder of the absence weighing on him. Merlin used to love Yule. Arthur recalled the childlike glee shining on his friend's face at the sight of the decorations in the great hall. How he had enjoyed teasing him about it.

Merlin would never get to celebrate Yule with them ever again.

Arthur didn't feel like going to the midwinter feast that was planned later on either but, as king, it was his duty to attend. And it was still better than staying by that great fire.

People had rounded up near the bonfire to see it catch light. As it burst up into flames, Arthur spotted a walking form behind the crowd, illuminated by the fire's orange glow.

Merlin.

What the hell was he doing there?

Arthur hurried after him. If not from the sudden light, he would have missed him altogether.

"Merlin! Stop!" Arthur instinctively instructed. The boy was not dressed for the cold weather, merely wearing his sleeping clothes, socks on his feet and a blanket loosely draped around his thin shoulders.

As should have been expected, Merlin did not do as told. He kept making his way, steadily walking towards the lower part of town. Arthur hesitated. Someone, somewhere, might need the warlock's help. Why else would he be out?

"All right, Merlin. But I'm coming with you," he decided. There was no way he would let his friend wander alone, especially during a cold night.

The king's determination wavered when, instead of stopping somewhere in the city, the silent boy walked pass the lower town's houses and straight through the front gate.

"Come on, Merlin. Seriously?" Arthur sighed. Of course, it was serious. Merlin just did not make jokes anymore.

He took a torch from a nearby guard before heading out. The full moon might be shining brightly above but he wouldn't take any chance.

"Warn Queen Guinevere," he ordered. "Inform her that I won't be able to make it to the feast."

* * *

The way was long. Too long. Arthur had expected Merlin to halt when they had marched by the farmhouses surrounding Camelot. He did not. He just kept walking steadily through the dark wintry night.

The king got truly concerned when the road penetrated the forest. Light snow had started falling, and Arthur worried that Merlin would get cold or hurt his feet. He hurried in front of him, blocking his path.

"Merlin! Wait! Just a second. I just want to make sure you're okay."

To his surprise, Merlin stopped.

"Couldn't you at least put your boots on when you decide to take a hike in the forest?" Arthur complained as he easily bent one of Merlin's knees in order to inspect his foot. He would never get used to this docile Merlin.

The younger man's socks were dry and not even a bit dirty. Magic was at work here.

Of course, it was.

Eventually, Merlin left the main road for a small, unmarked trail. Arthur would never have noticed it, neither would any help coming their way. Why would Merlin even head there? Could there really be people in need on the other side of the trail?

Arthur was at least glad to have brought the torch, he thought as the moon hid beneath the thick canopy of trees. While Merlin probably didn't even need light to guide his way, they would have made a tempting prey for any nocturnal wildlife prowling around. The fire would hopefully keep it away.

They walked a long time, their path slithering across the woods, the king hoping that Merlin would be able to lead them back home. The cover of the forest ultimately receded and they entered a great clearing, where the light of the full moon reflected brightly on the thin snow blanket.

This place was eerily silent. Even the wind seemed to have died down completely. Arthur scanned the land for signs of a dwelling nearby, frowning when he found none.

The warlock kept walking, heading straight towards the center of the clearing.

Not just a clearing, Arthur realised in panic, but rather a vast expanse of frozen water, buried under a thin blanket of snow. He needed to stop Merlin before he went too far. It was only December, the ice surface would not be thick enough to hold a man's weigh.

Arthur rushed forward, taking only three paces before he smashed into a solid, if invisible, wall standing between him and the still advancing sorcerer.

"Merlin! Stop! Come back here!" he ordered, alarmed.

His friend was deaf to his warning.

The ice started creaking, groaning under Merlin's weigh and dread filled the king. He vigorously pounded on the shield, praying to find some give, fearing what would come if he failed to reach Merlin in time.

Arthur's blood ran cold when a loud crack resounded in the glade, instantly followed by a splashing noise as Merlin disappeared from his sight. He froze, his fingers splayed on the invisible barrier, his wide eyes staring in terror at the hole in the ice.

Merlin's head didn't even surface once.

With the force of despair, he fought frantically against the impenetrable barrier. He kept ramming it with his shoulder, ignoring the pain tearing through his body, when he suddenly fell forward, crashing violently on the ice.

Not considering the danger to his own life, he scurried towards the location where he had last seen Merlin, constantly losing his footing on the treacherous ice, thoroughly terrified about what the barrier's disappearance must mean.

Arthur kneeled on the ice right where Merlin's footsteps ended. There was no hole there, no cracks. Not even a sign of recently refrozen ice. The lake was frozen solid. It was unnatural. It should take hours for ice to freeze at this temperature.

"MERLIN!" he shouted, his hands busy removing the thin film of snow covering the ice, right where the hole should be. Merlin had fell through the ice right there, he was certain.

Arthur unsheathed Excalibur, the sword his best friend had given him, and desperately stroke at the cruel ice, finding it thick and unyielding. He slipped and lost his balance, pain radiating up his arm when he felt the cold metal cutting his hand as he lost his grip on the blade.

With his last remaining strength, he struck the ice with closed fists, marking its surface with a bright blood stain. The exhausted king let himself fall on his back, helplessly laying on the unforgiving ice.

"WHY?" he howled at the sky, as the bright stars and the full moon taunted him from above. "Why did you take him away?"

Merlin belonged in Camelot, with his friends, not at the bottom of some godforsaken lake. Arthur felt the tears on his cheeks freezing in the bitter cold. There would be no coming back from this for Merlin. His friend was truly gone.

The heartbroken king was left alone with his crushing grief. The longest night of the year would prove to be the longest of his young life.


	12. Chapter 12

After a sleepless night, Arthur half-heartedly dropped more branches on his dying fire. He knew he should have headed back to Camelot at first light but he was not ready to leave his friend behind. Leaving was admitting that Merlin was truly gone and he found himself unable to say goodbye.

With a heavy heart, the king wondered what he would say to his wife and friends. How do you explain someone dying so young, drowned in a frozen lake? While it was the absolute opposite of the terrible pyre which had almost taken Merlin's life, it had proven deadlier.

The dim light of the first rising sun of winter shone over the mountains, conferring the frozen lake a spectral aspect. As much as it pained him to admit it, it was a breathtakingly beautiful resting place.

"Thank you, my friend. For everything," Arthur said, his voice thick with grief.

Destiny had sent Merlin to Camelot to help him and protect him, even if the odds had been cruelly stacked against him. Now the same destiny had taken him back from the unworthy king who had forsaken his most loyal servant. The fault had been his but Merlin had been the one to pay the ultimate price. Such suffering for nothing. He could only hope that Merlin was in a better place now.

A sickening choking noise broke the silence, interrupting Arthur's melancholic musings. He sprung up from the fallen log he had been sitting on, searching for the source of such a sound.

His gaze stopped at the seemingly melted edge of the lake, mouth gaping as he saw a drenched Merlin slowly attempting to crawl his way out of the water.

Shocked into action, Arthur sprinted to the edge of the lake just as Merlin sagged face first in the shallow water. He grabbed his friend as firmly as his trembling hands allowed and heaved him out of the lake.

He crashed on his knees next to the violently shaking man, nasty gagging sounds filling his ears as Merlin attempted to force out the invading water from his lungs, his whole body tense. He retched and coughed, more water coming out of him then Arthur would have ever thought possible to swallow, and struggled to get air in.

"Breathe, Merlin! Please!" implored Arthur in a panicked frenzy, uselessly rubbing his friend's back, feeling powerless to help him.

After what seemed like hours, Merlin's coughs finally died down. He collapsed on the icy ground, unfocussed eyes hanging at half-mast and body completely still. The sudden lack of movement made Arthur's blood run cold.

"No! Don't you dare!" ordered the king in a rush of panic, pulling his friend's limp form into a sitting position and held him against his own chest. Merlin's head lolled back on the armoured shoulder, his wet hair cold against Arthur's face. No air was passing through the bluish lips.

"Come on, Merlin. Breathe." he begged, cupping the white face with his hand. Merlin could not have crawled out of a frozen lake to just die in his arms.

He heard it then. The faintest sound as Merlin drew air in. Arthur's own breath caught in his throat.

Merlin was alive and breathing, but he was dangerously cold. Tiny ice crystals were already forming in his wet hair. Arthur couldn't go through this anymore, he was sick of losing his best friend, getting him back just to lose him all over again.

Arthur hoisted him up. "Come on, we have to get you warmed up!"

Merlin's steps were disoriented and Arthur had to half-carry, half-drag him, gently leading him next to the fire. He seemed groggy, breathing in short, raspy breaths.

Arthur settled the badly shivering young man down on the fallen log where he had kept his silent vigil the previous night.

"We need to get you out of these wet clothes," stated Arthur, raising the boy's arms and removing the soaked shirt from his thin frame. Merlin's skin was ghostly pale, his lips an alarming shade of purple. He replaced the wet garment with his own warm cape, wrapping it tightly around his freezing friend.

The wet socks on Merlin's feet would have to go too, he decided, removing his own boots. The ground felt terribly cold but he didn't care about his own numbing toes if it could help warm his friend up. He crouched in front of Merlin and removed the socks.

Arthur froze, taken aback by the state of Merlin's legs. He had not dared look at them since the first woeful days, back when Merlin was still fighting for his life after his failed execution. Burns so severe left marks, but Merlin's skin, while waxy and almost translucent from the cold, was unscarred. Not a single mark marred his once severely damaged legs. Not even Gaius could ever achieve such a level of healing. He would have to ask the physician once they were back in Camelot.

As he covered Merlin's feet with his warm boots, he heard a shaky gasp coming from the warlock.

Arthur looked up to find impossibly wide eyes staring directly into his own. Not the painfully vacant eyes of the last months but clear eyes that held that bright spark of intelligence that was so Merlin. Familiar, albeit confused, blue eyes locked straight into his.

"Merlin?" cautiously spoke Arthur, hope flaring in his chest.

"Who are you?" asked Merlin weakly, his voice still hoarse from coughing.

Arthur stared at the warlock in amazement, barely believing he had just head Merlin speak. His heart soared at the sound his friend's voice. It seemed as if Merlin didn't remember him, though, but is was such an incredible improvement that Merlin was alive and talking that the king didn't even mind.

"Arthur. I'm Arthur, Merlin," he eagerly replied. "Don't you know who I am?"

Merlin eyed him suspiciously. "I know who you are pretending to be," he said, his voice soft and wary. "But you are not the real Arthur Pendragon, so I'll ask again. Who, or what, are you?"

The blonde man's mouth fell open. "Why am I not the real Arthur?" he asked, baffled by his friend's disbelief.

Merlin looked away, his mouth set in a grim line. "Because I'm dead," he stated, sorrow clear in his voice. "And Arthur is not."

"What? Why would you think you're dead?"

A cynical huff escaped Merlin. "Let's see. Arthur ordered my execution, the last memory I have is of a warm autumn day, getting tied to a pyre. Then, it's all smoke and fire… and pain." he paused for a moment, haunted eyes staring at the campfire. "Next thing I know, I'm almost drowning in Avalon Lake, dressed in sleeping clothes, in what seems to be the middle of bloody winter."

"I suppose I see your point, but–"

"Am I supposed to believe that the man who just had me burned alive would suddenly care enough to warm me up?" interrupted Merlin through his chattering teeth. "And share his boots!"

"You were freezing!" He still was. Hard shivers were shaking Merlin's body and Arthur toyed with the idea of manhandling him closer to the fire.

"Arthur is uncommonly fussy about his boots, believe me, I would know. I had to clean the nasty things often enough. He wouldn't share them with just anyone."

"Of course, I wouldn't, I'm the king. I don't usually share boots with stinky footed servants, but as you just took a bath, I figure it should be all right," Arthur instinctively replied to Merlin's sass.

"Right. Let's insult the dead man."

"You're not dead!" yelled the monarch, raising his arms in the air. "And if you don't want the boots, you can just give them back!" As glad as he was to have Merlin back, he getting frustrated by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"You're not real, or at least not human, so you don't need them," snapped back Merlin, still not meeting his eyes.

Arthur let out a sigh. Bickering with Merlin wasn't helping.

He sat down next to Merlin to regroup and think about what his next move should be. So Merlin was convinced he wasn't really Arthur. Did Merlin encounter supernatural beings so often that Arthur being one was the most plausible explanation for him?

An aura of panic surrounded Merlin, which was unsurprising since the last thing he seemed to recall was the living nightmare of his own execution. Thus his last memory of Arthur was of the bigoted king who had choked him, hit him, and condemned him to burn after years of loyal services.

Merlin was right. Why would that hateful man care for him?

"If you are dead, what am I doing here, then?" Arthur asked. Merlin was a smart man, he could be reasoned with.

"I don't know. Maybe it's some sort of unfinished business thing?"

"Really? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Maybe you are a spirit who preys on the souls of the dead," Merlin suggested, his voice still weak and wheezy.

"No. Try again."

"You have a better idea?"

"Well… maybe I'm dead too."

Merlin looked at Arthur with narrowing eyes, considering the possibility.

"No... No, no, no… You'd better not be dead too. I have worked _too_ hard to keep you alive." Merlin shook his head. "Though, I would not be overly surprised if you had died without me around to save your sorry arse."

Indignant, Arthur barely kept himself from a replying with his own sharp retort when he realised that Merlin was not being insolent. He was serious. His servant had hinted at this before but, at the time, he had brushed if off as a joke.

He was curious, though. Gaius had held back a lot of information from him, if not most of it. Furthermore, according to the physician, Merlin was apparently never completely transparent with anyone.

A plan formed in the king's mind, seeing an opportunity finally to get answers without Merlin dodging his questions. An objectionable plan, but a plan nonetheless.

Arthur straightened up and took a calm, poised voice.

"You are right, I am not Arthur. I… am your spirit guide," he stated, setting down a reassuring hand on the warlock's shoulder. "I merely took a form familiar to you."

Merlin looked at him suspiciously, a single eyebrow raised, oddly reminiscent of his guardian.

"Really? And you chose _that_ one?" cracked Merlin, turning to observe Arthur's hand in disbelief, as if a singing slug had settled there instead of a hand.

Arthur hastily removed his hand.

"What?"

"Well, for starters, I can think of a few spirit guides who would be much better suited than you," stated Merlin matter-of-factly.

"Like who?" Arthur blurted out, almost insulted.

"Why isn't Freya here instead? We _are_ sitting by Lake Avalon."

"We are?" hesitated the king, turning to look at the lake. "I mean, we _are_ ," he hastily added, mimicking Merlin's tone. "I am sorry but Freya is unavailable at this time."

"Unavailable?" Merlin scoffed. "What about my father, then?"

"I fear Balinor is otherwise engaged," replied Arthur, glad he had learned about Merlin's parentage weeks before, but hoping that the list of Merlin's desirable spirit guides would not be too exhaustive.

"So I'm stuck with a doppelganger of the man who just had me executed as a spirit guide. Great. Just… fantastic," Merlin fumed, his gaze fixing the campfire.

Harsh reality hit Arthur. Although Merlin had recovered, there could be no going back for their friendship. Condemning your best friend to a gruesome and excruciating death doesn't get forgiven. Ever.

At this rate, he would be lucky if Merlin didn't turn him into a worm once he discovered the deception.

"I get it, I guess," pointed out Merlin with a bone-weary sigh. "Other side of the coin and all that."

Arthur didn't get it. Why was currency making any sort of sense to Merlin?

"What do I have to do then?" Merlin asked.

Arthur seized the opportunity. "If I was Arthur, what would you want to tell him?" He patiently waited for an answer, slightly worried that a string insults would soon follow.

Merlin shrugged. "I'd wish him good luck, I guess."

"Why?" wondered Arthur, intrigued.

"He won't have an easy time. Morgana is missing but she's not gone. She must be gathering her strength for her next strike again Camelot. And with me dead, more desperate magic users are going to join her. I worry about what will happen amongst the druids when they learn that I failed at my destiny."

Merlin was right, of course. Well, except for the fact that the druid uprising had already settled down. But he had always known what was at stake.

"Your destiny. You're speaking of the prophecy about Emrys and the Once and Future King?"

"I guess it's useless now. Not that I needed some stupid prophecy to follow Arthur," Merlin said wearily. "I wish I could have been just a regular servant. No great destiny, no magic, no secrets."

A coughing fit shook Merlin, interrupting him as he struggled to catch his breath. When if finally died down, the exhausted warlock tightened the cape around him, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Why did you never tell Arthur about your magic?"

"I wanted to, so many times. All those lies were eating at me," Merlin wheezed out, his voice thick with emotion. "I dreamt of walking up to him and just tell him everything. But I knew that could never be."

"Why not?"

"Did you miss the part where I died on a pyre when Arthur found out I have magic?" Merlin snapped bitterly.

"Arthur had me _killed_ ," he continued. "He didn't let me explain anything. He wasn't even there to see me burn... I feared it would happen but I hoped it wouldn't end this way." Merlin's voice trailed away.

Arthur felt a lump growing in his throat. Merlin had expected this. He had expected that his king, his friend, might be this cruel to him.

He remembered all too well what happened on that day, how pitiless and unforgiving he had been when Merlin had begged for a chance to explain himself. How he had choked and punched his servant when he had tried to tell the truth. The shame had been following him ever since.

"Since you never had your chance to tell Arthur, then tell me, just as you wanted to tell him."

Merlin shook his head. "What use would that be? What's done is done."

"That is what you must do if you wish to move on."

Merlin slumped, lowering his head, nose bundled up in the cape. "I don't want to move on," he murmured, his voice breaking.

Arthur looked on sadly as Merlin closed his eyes. He looked truly defeated. That was not the plan. He had wanted to let his friend explain himself, not hurt him any further.

He opened his mouth, ready to end this farce.

"Merlin, I–"

"I was born with magic."

* * *

And so it was that Arthur finally got to hear everything he had longed to hear these difficult last few months. As Merlin told him his story, it elucidated in Arthur's mind an absolutely insane amount of strange occurrences, along with Merlin's odd disappearances.

The tavern wasn't even mentioned once.

Thanks to Gaius, Arthur had already known some small parts of Merlin's tale but many of Merlin's revelations left him stunned.

Arthur learned why Merlin first came to Camelot. He found out about the bargains Merlin had to make with the great dragon, about how he had known about Morgana and Agravaine's treachery long before Arthur ever did. He found out about the innumerable times where Merlin had stood, alone, against Camelot's foes.

He heard the guilt in Merlin's still gravely voice as he recalled the times he failed, the times when he had followed his heart and did what he believed in, only to be faced with grave consequences.

Above all, he heard a tale of unrelenting loyalty. Of a young man who had always gave all he had to help while remaining in the shadows. Of an incredible being who held such tremendous power but who had lowered himself to the role of a servant in order to protect those close to him, never seeking recognition.

"You are a devoted and loyal friend, Merlin. And if Arthur could not see that, well he is the idiot," declared Arthur, meaning every word.

"Arthur has made mistakes but that doesn't mean he is an idiot. He is a good man, and I know he will become a great king," Merlin paused. "With or without me around to help him."

A sad half-smile appeared on Arthur's face. "After all he has done to you, you still defend him" he stated, stunned by his servant's unwavering faith.

"Yes. And I will always believe in him," Merlin vowed. "Arthur is misguided towards magic because he has grown up learning it was something to be feared. This fear became hatred once his father died. He has lost so much to it, I guess I understand."

"Fear of a thing does not justify murder."

"People in Camelot fear magic because they do not understand it," the warlock explained. "The blame is mine to bear. I should have done more to change those mentalities. I have failed the people of Camelot, my friends, and every single magic user who just wants to live in peace. And now, I can't even keep Arthur safe anymore."

Arthur could not believe his ears. How could Merlin claim the blame for this? Could it be true that all this time, such strain had been hidden below his usually happy-go-lucky servant? All for the sake of prophecy?

"I was unfair of fate to lay such a heavy burden on your shoulders."

"You're right, it was. I never wanted any of this! I never asked for it! It almost makes me glad that I'm dead," Merlin added bitterly, to Arthur's shock. "I failed, but at least I'm _done_ being destiny's plaything!"

Merlin ranted on. "No more impossible choices, no more trying to make the right decisions when all I have to go by is a manipulative dragon speaking in bloody riddles! Heed my words, young warlock, but it will all blow up in your face no matter what you do", he derided.

The king would had laughed Merlin's scornful imitation of the powerful creature but the agitated warlock continued his tirade.

"And Arthur! I spend years at his side. Years! But he constantly ignored my advice. He never believed me whenever I had something important to say."

"Some of those accusations were simply preposterous," Arthur defended himself, unconsciously glad to get a rise out of Merlin. It had been too long.

"They were still true!" Merlin protested, raising his voice. "But I was never more than some idiotic, cowardly servant in his eyes until the day I became a alleged traitor."

Arthur almost stopped him right there. Had Merlin never even known how important he was to him?

"Everything I have done since I first came to Camelot has been for you but it never mattered," Merlin went on, pointing an angry finger at Arthur. "Hell, I have _died_ on your orders, and yet you still doubted my loyalty!"

Merlin was livid. Air seemed to fizzle around the him and Arthur worried about how much of a grip the warlock currently had on his magic. But he would gladly handle Merlin's rightful anger. I was a million times better than the vacant, expressionless face Merlin had been wearing these last painful months.

"I thought you said that I wasn't Arthur. Make up your mind, Merlin," said Arthur, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Well, you are as aggravating as he is!" Merlin released an exasperated sigh and slumped back, suddenly deflating.

Merlin lowered his head, his still wet bangs concealing his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. He still looked too cold, too thin.

"I had such a great hope for a bright future. I had envisioned Arthur as this amazing king, this shining beacon of light finally guiding Albion to a lasting peace." His voice faltered, his spirit gone. "Now I can't see anything but smoke and darkness."

Arthur's throat tightened at the sight of his friend so defeated and spent. The king vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to bring Merlin's vision of Albion to life. He owed him that, and so much more. But first, he needed to end this charade. He raised from his seat to crouch in front of Merlin and the warlock's dark head raised slightly to meet his gaze.

"What you have done for Camelot and your friends has not been in vain. Your actions and your sacrifices have set in motion a chain of events that will bring magic back to Camelot. You can be proud of what you have done, Merlin. You made the world a better place."

"That seems highly unlikely, but I hope you're right."

Merlin rubbed his freezing hands together, blowing on them in an attempt to warm them up.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" asked Arthur.

Merlin shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Still bitter about the whole dying thing, though."

He slowly stood up, Arthur quickly following suit when he saw the warlock wavering unsteadily for a moment.

Merlin turned to gaze at the lake, the gentle light of the morning sun enhancing his ghostly pallor. He cleared his throat.

"So, what happens now?"

Arthur hesitated. "I'm not sure."

"You're not sure! What do you mean, you're not sure?" Merlin wheezed out, frowning. "What kind of a lousy spirit guide are you?"

Arthur clasped Merlin's shoulders, looking straight into his eyes.

"The kind that wanted a chance to talk to his friend. One that wants to take you back home with him and try to make amends for his wrongdoings."

Merlin froze, eyes slowly widening as sudden realisation dawned on him.

* * *

To be continued

Please let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

Blood drained from the Merlin's already pale face.

In an rush of panic, he attempted to back away only to trip on the log he had been sitting on. He lost his already precarious balance, tumbling towards the ground, when a pair of strong arms kept him from falling.

Terror flashed in Merlin's eyes as he tried to shake the king off, breathing in erratic, shallow breaths. Arthur quickly unhanded him and backed away when he realised that he was the cause of Merlin's fright, angry at himself for not having expected this outcome when Merlin found out the truth.

He raised his hands, palms forward, in a gesture of appeasement. "Calm down, you idiot. I promise I won't harm you."

Arthur fought the urge to grasp Merlin as he swayed on his feet, dangerously close to collapsing. An ugly coughing fit shook his thin frame and he was struggling to catch his breath.

"Please just sit before you fall down," directed Arthur with a soothing voice. He guided Merlin back into a sitting position, careful not to spook him again.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to compose himself, waiting for the panic to fade. Arthur winced, worried at the sound of Merlin's laboured breaths. He would need to get Merlin to Gaius as soon as possible, but for now he settled for retightening the cape around the trembling sorcerer.

After a short time, Merlin slowly opened his eyes to look at Arthur.

"I'm alive? You lied to me?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"I did try to tell you but you refused to believe me." Arthur paused, a smug smile appeared on his face. "I cannot believe you fell for that."

"You tricked me!"

"I did. And I'm not even sorry about that."

"You… You had me burn… I know you did," Merlin muttered in accusation, distress obvious on his face.

Arthur's smile quickly fell. If he had needed any further proof of who betrayed the other, it would have been right in Merlin's eyes.

"You never died, Merlin."

"Yet you let me believe I was dead! What kind of sick joke is this? I thought we were friends!" Merlin huffed dejectedly. "But no, I guess we're not."

Arthur sat next to Merlin and stared straight into his eyes.

"We are," he assured, his tone steady and sincere, uneasy at the glaring distrust in the warlock's eyes.

"Then explain." Merlin requested, his voice low and guarded.

"I guess I needed you to tell me your side of the story," Arthur explained, "what you tried to tell me that night in the dungeons, without fear of retaliation."

Merlin nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"What happened to me?" he asked.

"I ordered your release. Some people in Camelot, namely lords in my father's former counsel, figured you had enchanted me into letting you go. They hoped your death would break the spell. And since I had already signed the execution order, they decided they could go through with it."

"They must have because I remember that part quite vividly," caustically snapped Merlin.

"I was too late to stop it," Arthur recalled. He would never forget his sheer horror at the sight of the blaze. "When I got outside, the pyre was already lit. I climbed on it to get you out."

Merlin blinked slowly, disbelief making way to frustration. "You purposely jumped in a fire?" he scolded, raised hands stuck in mid-air. Merlin didn't even seem to notice as the cape fell from his shoulders. "That's stupid, Arthur, even for you!"

Arthur picked up the fallen garment from the ground, draping it around his friend. "Believe me, you are not the first one to tell me this. And keep this on."

"Were you hurt?" asked Merlin, his voice soft again.

The shadow of a smile slowly appeared on the king's face.

"You are the one who almost died, Merlin, and yet worry about me."

"I wouldn't worry so much if you weren't such a fire-jumping clotpole. How did you manage to get out?"

"It started raining. Pouring, as a matter of fact."

"Rain? You got lucky, Arthur."

"That was no luck. It was a torrential rain, unlike anything Camelot has ever seen. I got out completely unscathed. You, my friend, have saved my life again."

"Why did you save mine?" asked Merlin, his tone suddenly subdued. "You seemed dreadfully determined to have me burn."

Arthur's mind hurled him back to that cursed morning almost four months ago when he had laid Merlin's burnt body on the pavement. Remorse clawed at his chest at the mere memory.

"I made a dreadful mistake, the worst of my entire life, by letting prejudice blind me and dictate my actions. I should have listened to you, I should have given you a chance. I wish I had been a better friend. I am truly sorry, Merlin."

"It's wasn't your fault," Merlin murmured through his bluish lips.

"It was! Of course it was! I signed the order for your execution, for God's sake!" Arthur ran his shaky fingers through his hair. "You almost died because of me! I should have trusted you. I should have protected you. I should have– "

"Arthur…"

"I condemned you to burn, Merlin." he choked, unable to meet Merlin's gaze anymore.

For a long time, Merlin didn't say anything. Neither did Arthur. He had confessed his sins, let Merlin judge him over them.

Then, Merlin's quiet voice broke the silence.

"I forgive you."

Arthur looked at Merlin's pale face unbelievingly, as if he had just been granted the most precious thing in the world. There it was. The forgiveness he never thought he would get.

He didn't deserve it. How could Merlin even forgive him?

Arthur shook his head. "You can't."

"For once, that's not for you to decide, Arthur Pendragon," said Merlin. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. About the lies, the magic–"

"Don't even worry about that", cut Arthur, brushing away the whole idea as if Merlin's magic was the most inconsequential matter in the world. "I had time to come to terms with you having magic. You have nothing to apologise for."

"What? How can _you_ be fine with magic? And what do you mean, time?" Merlin paused, observing their snowy surroundings perplexedly. "I'm confused. Why does it look like winter?"

"The all-powerful warlock is confused. Why am I not surprised? " teased Arthur, a smirk on his face.

"Enlighten me then, _Sire_." Merlin said, smiling at the jest. And while his smile did not quite reach his eyes, it was still a welcome sight for the king.

"You have been gone for a long time, Merlin."

Arthur explained to a bewildered Merlin the dark days that had followed his would-be execution, from his grievous injuries to how his mind had been gone for the last few months. While he tried to maintain his usual hold on his emotions, he still struggled to describe everything without letting transpire what a living nightmare it had been for him and their friends back in Camelot. Merlin had been through too much already, and based on what Arthur now knew about his friend, he would probably manage to find a way to feel responsible for it.

The shivering warlock was particularly shocked to learn of how his magic had taken over and how he had been walking around, instinctively casting magic.

"So you really don't remember anything?" Arthur asked.

"I don't. For me, it is as if everything just happened. I can still feel the smoke in my lungs and the burning heat on my skin."

Arthur threw a worried glance at Merlin but while the young man seemed too frail for his liking, there were no visible signs of any lingering after-effects from his close brush with death.

"That could also be from the freezing bath you just took," he pointed out.

"It just might. I think I will try to avoid those in the future," Merlin replied, deadpan.

"Incidentally, how does anyone survive that?"

"Magic."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Is that going to be your answer to everything from now on?"

"If you have a better way to explain it, I'm all ears"

Arthur smiled contentedly. "I never thought I would say this, Merlin, but it is good to hear your voice. Even as ghastly as it sounds right now."

"Thank you, my lord." Merlin's words might have been reverent but his face told a different story.

"Tell me, Merlin. How are you? Truly."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm fine."

Merlin had always show extraordinary resilience, Arthur could never deny it, but he had seen too many stalwart men go through traumatic experiences get scarred for life to accept this answer.

"Honestly," he asked, staring at his friend.

The warlock adverted his king's gaze. "I'm not sure. It's a lot to take in."

A gleam of the campfire reflected in Merlin's troubled eyes, shivers shaking his frame as the brisk morning breeze blew through his damp hair.

"You want to move closer to the fire?" Arthur suggested.

"I'll pass," replied Merlin, reluctant to go near the blaze.

Though Arthur suspected why, he had the good sense not to ask. Not yet anyhow. Instead, he settled for simply throwing more branches on the campfire, hoping the additional heat would reach Merlin. He then grabbed Merlin's discarded garments and laid them in front of the blaze to dry, pretending not to have seen the astounded look his friend wore at his actions.

Taking care of Merlin had become second nature to him, Arthur had not even considered that he might be weirded out by it.

His work done, he sat back next to Merlin.

"Since I know all your dirty secrets now, I hope you won't mind telling me this. That night, why didn't you try to get away?" Arthur asked, craving the answer to a question had been eating at him for months.

A weary sigh escaped the hunched figure.

"Please tell me. I need to understand," Arthur pleaded. "Could you have gotten out of there?"

Merlin hesitated. "Yes."

"Then why didn't you? Gaius thought… suggested… that it was because you thought it was my will to see you dead. Was it?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

"It's complicated. I didn't want to live in a world where you wanted me dead but I guess I could have. But even if I had fled, life always would have found a way to screw me all over again."

"Merlin..."

"I just didn't want to fight anymore. I was so sick of getting constantly manipulated by destiny. You condemning me to die was the final blow. I wanted to be done with it." Merlin paused. "I thought that if I… burned… then there would be no going back. But apparently, destiny not done toying with me yet." he explained, unusually bitter undertones resounding in his voice.

"It's not like you to give up", worried Arthur, deeply troubled. His mind flashed back to the broken man he had left alone in that black cell. Merlin had given up on life that night. But what had happened months ago for Arthur had happened the day before for Merlin. His state of mind could not have changed much since.

"I was in a dark place," Merlin confessed, his eyes haunted.

He still was. It was painfully obvious to Arthur, who vowed to himself that he would not let his friend hide the strain of their common destiny. Merlin wouldn't wage his war alone anymore.

"That night," Merlin murmured, "I knew I was going to die, but no one came for me. No Gaius with wise words. No Gwen saying goodbye. No Gwaine trying to bust me out. What did I have to live for?"

"What about your mother?" asked Arthur, recalling Hunith's distressing visit to Camelot. She had been utterly devastated by Merlin's condition, as only a grieving parent could. He would have to send word as soon as possible, to mend the poor woman's broken heart.

"I just wanted to keep her alive. And safe. If I had escaped, Ealdor would have been the first place anybody hunting me would have looked. She might even have been hunted herself."

"For what it's worth, Gaius was placed under house arrest, Gwaine was put in a cell to cool off because he _did_ try to bust you out, and I had informed Gwen that I had revoked your sentence and that they all could speak to you once you were released."

"Next time you decide not to have me killed, Sire, could you please be so gracious as to have me informed as well?" Merlin bitterly retorted.

Realising his sudden harshness, he opened his mouth to speak but Arthur cut off his apology before it even began.

"Don't worry about it. Like you said, it just happened for you. You're entitled to be angry."

Against all odds, Merlin had forgiven him, but what he had went through was not the kind of experience one could forget. Arthur would gladly deal with the fallout.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this, Merlin. You don't know how much. And I want you to know you are sorely missed back in Camelot. But I would understand should you decide not to return," Arthur swallowed hard. "Wherever you choose to go, I will make sure you shall want for nothing. But if you do come back, you will find that Camelot has become a much better place. And if we work together, we can still have the future you longed for. This is my vow to you."

The warlock bit his lip, somber.

"So, do you want to come home?" Arthur asked tentatively, bracing himself for Merlin's reply.

Merlin's eyes softened. "I really do."

Arthur exhaled in relief, not realising he had been holding his breath. He inconspicuously sniffed, feeling his eyes getting wet. That would not do.

He cleared his throat, standing tall, arms crossed across his chest

"Good. That's settled," he said, taking on a dignified tone. "Come, then. I'm freezing. You can draw me a hot bath when we get home."

The freezing warlock grimaced. "That's it! No more miracles for you," he replied in mock outrage. "Next time you have me killed, I'm staying dead."

Arthur's face fell, aghast. "Don't joke about this!"

A mischievous grin appeared on Merlin's face. "Too soon?"

* * *

To be continued

Two chapters left until this story is complete. Thank you for reading! :)


	14. Chapter 14

The once familiar sound of the king and his servant arguing echoed through the snowy glade. While one would have thought from the heated debate that the source of the conflict might have been of crucial importance, it was not the case.

They were squabbling about a simple pair of boots.

"Just take them back!"

"No. You're freezing. Keep them on," the king loudly ordered.

"You can't just walk barefoot through the forest, Arthur!" Merlin scolded.

Arthur snorted at that, as Merlin's wisp of a voice conferred anything but authority.

"That's what you did! " he countered, just as an idea crossed his mind. "Hey! How about you just do what you did yesterday on the way here?" he enthusiastically asked.

The warlock sighed "I don't _know_ what I did."

"That spell thing," Arthur explained unsuccessfully. Merlin's stare made him feel as if he was the biggest idiot in the five kingdoms.

"You didn't hurt your feet even if you walked all the way here without boots. Your socks didn't even get dirty."

Merlin's eyes widened. "Oh! I never thought about using that spell this way before."

"As glad as I am to know that you did not make a habit of waking through the forest bare-footed before, _what_ did you use it for?"

Merlin shrugged.

"To help with chores," he explained teasingly, almost as if he was testing the king's response.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Of course, his servant had been using his magic for menial labour. How had he failed to notice it?

"It's a wonder you never got caught earlier," he stated.

Merlin lowered his head, his golden eyes adverting the king's own as he whispered a spell. Sceptically raising his foot off the frosty ground, Arthur examined his sock. It was spotless.

"The spell won't hold against blunt force or weapons, though, so don't get any grand ideas about impervious underclothes, all right? I mostly used it to keep the bed sheets clean."

The king frowned. "How often _did_ you clean my bed, you indolent nitwit?"

A familiar smile danced on Merlin's lips. "Scarcely ever."

The warlock didn't even argue about keeping the cape, though, as he was basically wearing only pyjamas underneath. Arthur would have poked fun Merlin's strange accoutrement but, since he was donning his armour with bare socks, he supposed he made for a comical sight as well.

Arthur turned to glance one last time at the frozen lake, thankful to the magic that permeated the shimmering waters for restoring his best friend.

"Come on, barefoot king," teased the warlock. "Enough sightseeing, let's go."

Arthur groaned, hoping the nickname wouldn't stick, and hurried after Merlin.

The apprehension he had held the day before about finding his way back soon faded since, apparently, Merlin knew the way back. So he simply settled for following him, hovering close, all too conscious of his friend's wobbly gait, and stood ready to assist him should his balance fail.

At some point, Merlin slowed down, turning around to face Arthur.

"How did you do it?" he asked, sounding slightly short of breath. "Getting me back?"

"You think _I_ did this? I didn't do anything. From what I saw, you took a stroll into a magic lake and came out soaked and a bit less dumb."

Merlin snorted. "A magic lake… I only wish it were that simple. But no, great magic like this always holds a price. You have done something, I know you have. Tell me what it is! Either you paid a steep price or…" Merlin voice trailed away.

Arthur waved a hand in front of the boy's pale face. "Go on. Don't stop mid-sentence."

The warlock furrowed his brow. "Or you have accomplished an important deed and destiny has deemed you worthy of a second chance."

"Oh…" muttered the king, his blue eyes blinking in sudden realisation. Was that really the reason his best friend was back at his side?

"Oh? What, oh?" Merlin impatiently asked. "What was it?"

A smile brightened Arthur's face. "I might have legalized magic while you were resting your lazy ass."

Merlin stared wide-eyed at Arthur, plainly not believing what he had just heard.

"What?"

"I think it was worth it. Consider it as an early welcome home present."

The king could not help but grin at Merlin's shocked stupefaction. "Breathe, Merlin. The gaping mouth is not a good look on you."

They continued their long trek throughout the snowy forest. Merlin was struggling, plainly exhausted and most likely hypothermic. Worried his friend could not last much longer, the king moved closer, just in time as Merlin's knees bucked, sending him stumbling forward. Arthur caught him easily, wrapping an arm around the boy's thin frame for support.

"You're out of shape," he teased. "You'll need training when we get home."

Merlin moaned. While Arthur was only kidding about training, there was some truth in his words. The lean muscle mass the dark-haired boy had been hiding under his thin frame before had melted away weeks ago. He would need to build it back up to a healthier size. And without his magic pulling the strings, it was a wonder he had even managed to walk this far on his own.

Arthur kept the shivering warlock moving and talking, glad he had insisted on him keeping both the boots and the cape. While he could hear the frozen leaves crunching under his socks and the cold air passing through them, the monarch felt neither terrain's rocks and roots, nor the snow's wetness reach the sole of his feet. What other prowess the warlock could accomplish, he could only imagine.

"So, you're certain you do not feel like turning me into a frog for what happened?"

It took a second for Merlin to answer.

"No… for now." The jibe sounded like music to the king's ears.

"Too bad. You would be the one having to carry me all around the forest for a change. Then, once we get home, Gwen would kiss me and I'd turn back into my handsome self."

Merlin chuckled softly. "It doesn't work that way. Although, turning you into a horse would be highly convenient right now."

"You can do that?" Arthur asked, almost considering being turned into a horse as a solution to their current predicament.

"No! I told you," corrected the warlock, feigning exasperation, "it doesn't work that way."

"You know, Merlin, for a man who is supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the land, this is kind of underwhelming."

"Glad to disappoint, Sire."

* * *

It took the pair a long time to finally reach the main road. By that time, Merlin had slowed down to a sluggish, stumbling pace, leaning heavily on Arthur for support as coordination seemed to desert him. The king's persistent attempts at conversation failed, Merlin's rare replies betraying his growing confusion.

Arthur was sorely tempted to simply haul up his friend and carry him back home, but he worried that without the movement warming him up, Merlin's body temperature would drop dangerously low. Arthur was struggling as well, slowed down by his sleepless night, but adrenalin kept him going. Merlin came first and his sole focus was getting him home.

Salvation eventually came to them in the form of Gwaine, riding his horse towards them, looking relieved at having found them. The knight hurriedly dismounted his horse, taking in the wretched sight in front of him.

"What happened?" he asked.

The king smirked. "Turns out all it took to snap Merlin out of it was a excessively long dunk in a frozen lake."

Gwaine opened his mouth in outrage, ready to bark at the king, when he noticed the boy's tired smile, and even better, Merlin's bleary eyes meeting his own. He laughed loudly, a wide grin etched on his face.

"Well, as long as it worked, I'm not going to kick your sorry arse," he irreverently informed the king as he wrapped Merlin in a tight hug.

"Hey, Gwaine," Merlin said, his voice raspy, leaning into the warm hug.

"And he speaks, too!" exclaimed the beaming knight, supporting the boy's weigh when he realised he could barely do it himself. "Merlin, my man! What the hell happened to you?"

Merlin paused for a second, frowning, as if he was gathering his thoughts. "I think I died," he mumbled. "But I can't remember if I burned or if I drowned."

Gwaine's eyes widened, looking worriedly at Arthur for clarification.

"No, Merlin, you didn't die, remember?" reassured Arthur, concerned for his friend. His confusion was worsening quickly.

Merlin blinked slowly in an effort to concentrate. "Oh, yeah. That's right."

"What's wrong with him. Is he still…" Gwaine hesitated, circling a single finger near his own head.

"No, he was perfectly coherent earlier but the cold is getting to him," the king explained, as Gwaine removed a glove to touch the warlock's icy cheek. "Take Merlin back to Camelot. You need to get him back to Gaius as soon as possible. Keep him warm."

"What about you?"

Arthur waved away the question. "I'll walk. Don't worry about me, just take care of Merlin."

The knight looked at Arthur from head to toe, his brow furrowed, seemingly unsatisfied with what he saw.

"No. I'm not leaving you here," he announced. "You take him."

"That was not a suggestion, Gwaine," Arthur said authoritatively. "We are losing time that Merlin does not have by arguing about this."

"Arthur, you look like hell. You're dead on your feet and you want to walk all the way back to Camelot? You're not even wearing any boots, for God's sake!"

Arthur's pressed his mouth in a tight line as he suddenly became aware of his bedraggled state. Gwaine was right. While the walk back would be little more than a stroll for the well-rested knight, he could not say the same for himself. He nodded gratefully, and mounted Gwaine's horse.

The knight gently helped the befuddled warlock on the horse and wrapped his own cape around the pair. A brisk walk back to Camelot would keep him warm enough. Arthur leant the boy against him, Merlin's head lolling on his armoured shoulder.

"Thank you. I will send someone your way when we reach Camelot," said Arthur, pleased that Gwaine trusted him with Merlin's safety. Not that he would ever admit it.

"Don't sweat it. Just keep him safe."

The monarch launched his mount in a quick trot, as a full gallop would prove to hard on both the heavily-loaded steed and the barely conscious warlock. Merlin watched bleary-eyed the quickly passing scenery, seemingly unaware of what was going on. It sent a spark of worry in Arthur's mind. He clung to his friend, not to protect him from the chilly wind, but because he found himself terrified that Merlin would simply drift away from him again.

They rode in silence, Merlin occasionally nodding off but apparently shaking himself awake every time. Arthur observed him, uncertain. He had expected the exhausted warlock to conk out as soon he was allowed to rest but he seemed to be fighting sleep.

The horse had just ridden pass a farmhouse when Merlin jerked awake again, his eyes laced with panic, as a shaky gasp escaped him. Arthur's felt a sting of guilt at not having realised why Merlin hadn't stayed under earlier. He tightened his hold on his friend and spoke reassuringly in his ear.

"It's all right, Merlin. You're safe. We're going home."

The next time Merlin closed his eyes, they remained that way.

Arthur let out a relieved sigh when Camelot's white citadel finally came into view. He knew had a lot of work awaiting him back there if he was to rebuild Merlin's trust in him. But truth be told, he was looking forward to it.

For the first time in months, his heart felt light. With Merlin back, everything now felt possible. He glanced fondly at the boy sleeping peacefully in his arms, thankful to the powers that be for allowing the golden-hearted warlock to be restored to them.

He could not wait to take his best friend home.

* * *

Merlin felt warm, almost too warm.

The last thing he recalled was being in the forest with Arthur… And Gwaine? Did it really happen? His memory was a blur. He did remember being cold to his bones. Not this almost oppressing warmth. A soft pressure pinned him down. Blankets then. Heavy ones.

He felt as if he had been asleep forever. Why was he was still exhausted? He was about to sink back into sleep when he heard a soft voice, whispering above him.

"… lin… Merlin…"

His half-hearted attempt at opening his eyes failed. Oblivion's siren call was too strong, threatening to pull him back under.

"Come on, Merlin. Wake up," said another voice, more forcefully. "You have slept long enough now."

It took him a painstakingly long time to finally get his eyelids to function. Barely able to discern the blurry forms around him, he blinked until his vision cleared.

He recognised Gaius' face, hovering near him, not altogether surprised to see the physician, considering how rotten he currently felt. Behind his guardian stood Gwaine, who winked playfully at him.

Merlin then saw Gwen, standing at the other side of his bed, her hands pressed to her heart. She was teary-eyed, but didn't seem truly sad. Last, he saw Arthur, his king and destiny, his arms wrapped around Gwen's shoulders, wearing a contented expression.

None of them uttered a single word. They just kept staring at him.

He should say something first, he supposed.

"Were you all just looking at me while I was sleeping?" Merlin tried, his voice rough from disuse. "Because that is sort of creepy."

His guardian moved closer, gently ruffling his dark hair.

"Welcome back, my boy."

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Only the epilogue remains until the story is over :)


	15. Chapter 15

A fortnight had passed since Merlin had awakened to find himself surrounded by the greatest mother hens Camelot had ever known. It had been particularly startling at first, back when his friends had stared at him in pure wonderment every time he so much as scratched his nose.

Since then, Merlin has been recuperating, even if he was still far from his past physical condition. But while his health was steadily improving, he was growing impatient. His every move demanded more effort, the price to pay for months of inertia he would never remember. On more than one occasion, he had been tempted to let his magic allow him more strength, like it had done before, but Gaius had wisely advised against it, stating that Merlin would never recover his muscle mass if he did.

His guardian wasn't the only person fussing over him, to such an extent that Merlin had difficulty getting any time by all himself. Gwen kept bringing him delights from the castle's kitchen to coax him into eating more. Gwaine insisted on accompanying Merlin whenever he had to go on his physician's appointed walks, chatting his ear off while updating him about the recent events in Camelot, from the rebellion and the druid uprising to the latest details about the attractive new bartender at the Rising Sun.

And Arthur… Well, Arthur was different. Changed. But amongst all of his friends, he was the one who sought the warlock's presence the most, even though he appeared to be walking on eggshells around him, minding his every word, as if he expected Merlin to tell him off, or to just walk out and leave.

Which Merlin would never do, even if he had the stamina to do so.

Gaius had expected his ward to regain his energy faster. Merlin didn't know how to tell his concerned guardian that he all too often laid awake at night, terrified of what he would find in his dreams.

At first, there was a part of him, one that Merlin kept hidden deep inside himself, that wanted to be angry at Arthur.

It had lasted until one night when, unable to sleep, the warlock found his king looking at the fire blazing in the dining hall's hearth, mouth set, shoulders tense, a haunted look in his eyes. Merlin knew the thoughts that troubled his mind. Gwen had told him about how Arthur had fallen into a spiral of guilt and misery during the last few months but witnessing his friend's anguish with his own eyes was another story.

Arthur might not have been the one tied to the pyre but he had been through an ordeal of his own. At that very moment, Merlin realised he had forgiven his king long before Arthur would ever be able to forgive himself.

Wishing to ease Arthur's mind, the warlock slowly approached. Arthur turned his head, his grim expression melting into a smile as soon as he saw his friend.

"It's the middle of the night, Merlin. You should be in bed," Arthur gently scolded, making no effort to hide the fondness in his voice. He slung his arm across Merlin's shoulders, leading him away from the hearth.

So much had changed in Camelot, Merlin had a difficult time wrapping his head around it. It felt like he had awoken from a nightmare to find himself in a living dream, leaving him wondering if everything was real.

Magic was free. He was free.

Arthur had even asked for Merlin's help with improving the new laws allowing magic. How smug he had been when he had bestowed him this particular headache, claiming it was something the warlock might actually be passable at. Although, to be fair, it was so amusing to see Arthur this eager to spend time with him that Merlin didn't even mind.

It was a great time to be alive.

* * *

The recovering warlock found himself daydreaming, comfortably lounging in Gaius's old armchair. On the adjacent footrest, he had set the heavy and almost soporific tome he had been consulting earlier. Something profoundly boring about precedents in magical legislation.

He rested his head on the chair's cushioned back, bleary eyes looking at nothing, feeling sleep slowly taking over him. Silently cursing the lingering fatigue, he was contemplating going back to bed for a late morning nap when he heard a shaky breath intake coming from the door.

Merlin quickly turned around to see Arthur standing in the doorway, his mouth slightly open. He seemed absolutely livid.

"Get up!" the king ordered. "Now!"

The warlock sprung up from his seat, wondering what he had done to incur Arthur's wrath. He instinctively took a step back as Arthur strode towards him, an indignant look on his face. But instead of stopping to yell at him, the king went around the warlock, picked up the armchair and hauled it outside the physician's quarters without a single word of explanation.

The baffled sorcerer stood in place, staring wide-eyed at the now empty doorway. Why would Arthur take away that old chair? Especially when he had been badgering him about getting enough rest.

By the time Merlin finally found him, the king was in the castle's courtyard, towering over the offending armchair, an axe in his hand and a fiendish smile on his face. His intentions were unmistakable.

"I like that chair!" protested Merlin.

"I know. But I _hate_ it!"

With an almost insane pleasure, Arthur swung the axe, bringing it down in a great crash. The poor armchair never stood a chance. Blow after blow, the king kept swinging his weapon until all that remained were scattered fragments of broken wood and ripped fabric.

His work done, Arthur surveyed the damage, seemingly pleased. He handed out the axe to the disgruntled warlock.

"You want to take a swing, Merlin?" he asked.

Arthur now wore such a good-natured smile that Merlin's frown softened. Whispering a spell, he sent the chair's remains flying high in the air, where it disintegrated in a great blast. Fine sawdust fell from the sky upon stunned bystanders.

"Nobody likes a show-off, Merlin" said Arthur, brushing the dust from his own shoulders.

"Always glad to help you rid the kingdom of malicious chairs, my lord. Will that be all or did you have other evil furniture to vanquish?"

The king gave his friend a conspiring smile.

"Go get the footrest."

Merlin bowed his head.

"As you wish, Sire."

* * *

And that's the end of this story, I hope you enjoyed it! I had fun writing it, even though it was a challenge, as English is not my first language.

Thank you so much to every person who took the time to review this story. You guys are great! I was nervous about posting this story but your words of encouragement gave me the confidence I needed.

Thanks for reading!

 _Note: For the readers who did not understand the destruction of the (evil) armchair, you might have read too quickly. It's referred to several times in the story._


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